Basilisk-born
by Ebenbild
Summary: Fifth year: Harry is rescued by someone else when he fights against the Dementors. After that he is vanished and his rescuer takes over Harry's life. Will Harry be able to return and out the changeling? And does he really want to? Will someone notice that something's wrong with 'Harry? And how will the story change with a Harry who's more Slytherin than Gryffindor? manipDumbledore
1. Prologue: Death

_**Disclaimer: **__not mine. All Rowling's but I like to torture her characters a little bit…_

_**Information: **__The story starts at the beginning of the fifth year. After that it gets AU, even if I try to follow the plot of the fifth year for a while. Don't tell me Harry is out of character – I know this myself. This is a Slytherin!Harry story. There is also time-travel involved (Founder's and other) as well as manipulative!Dumbledore. I try not to bash him, but it might come to a slight bashing…_

_I'm still not sure what to do about Ron and Hermione._

_**Important: **__All written in italic is from Rowling's chapter 'Dudley Demented' from OotP. I needed it to start, so that you know where the story begins._

_My mother tongue isn't English, so sorry for my mistakes._

_And now, let's go on with the story…_

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**Prologue: Death**

sss

He_ stood stock still, turning his sightless eyes left and right._

_The cold was so intense he was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up his arms and the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up – he opened his eyes to their fullest extent, starring blankly around, unseeing._

_It was impossible… they couldn't be here… not in Little Whinging… he strained his ears… he would hear them before he saw them…_

Dudley was whining, so he told him to shut up. He had to listen; he had to listen to know…

_There was something in the alleyway apart from themselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths._

Again Dudley was whining.

"_Dudley, shut-"_

_WHAM._

Dudley's fist made contact with his head, made him dizzy enough, so that he lost his footing and fell. Pain flew through his head, his sight swam.

_You moron, Dudley!"_ He yelled, while trying to subdue his dizziness. Then he heard his cousin running – running in the wrong direction. Running into danger instead away from it. He tried to stop him; yelled as loud as he could to tell him to stop, yelled as loud as he could to tell him to keep his mouth shut.

But he knew, it wasn't enough. They needed help. There was no way to survive without…

His hands were searching in the absolute darkness surrounding him. Hard asphalt let his hands bleed but he had no time, he had no time…

"_Where's - wand- come on- _lumos!"

_He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search – and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand – the wand tip had ignited. _He _snatched it up, scrambled to his feet and turned around._

_His stomach turned over._

_A towering, hooded figure was gliding smoothly towards him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came._

_Stumbling backwards, _he _raised his wand._

"Expecto patronum!"

_A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of the wand and the Dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his own feet, _he _retreated further as the Dementor bore down upon him, panic _and pain _fogging his brain – _concentrate –

_A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Dementor's robes, reaching for him. A rushing noise filled _his _ears. _

Again a rush of dizziness came over him. His head throbbed with pain and his thoughts seemed somehow unclear and fogged.

"Expecto patronum!"

_His voice sounded dim and distant. Another wisp of silver smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from the wand – he couldn't do it anymore, he couldn't work the spell._

_There was laughter inside his own head, shrill, high-pitched laughter… he could smell the Dementor's putrid, death-cold breath filling his own lungs, drowning him – _think… something happy…

_But there was no happiness in him… the Dementor's icy fingers were closing on his throat – the high-pitched laughter was growing louder and louder, and a voice spoke inside his head: "_Bow to death, Harry… it might even be painless… I would not know… I have never died…"

His fingers went limp, his clasp loosened – _concentrate –_

But there was nothing, nothing but darkness, coldness and the pain filling his head. His hand was lifeless and it could have been empty, it would not have mattered, the last chance to survive was gone.

_Happy thoughts- happy thoughts - happy…_

His mind went blank. There was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do anymore. No happiness, nothing but death.

"_Bow to death, Harry." _The voice whispered again and a deep, black, endless hole came down on his mouth. Weathered skin where normally would be the eyes starred down to him. His body bowed to death. His wand escaped his clasp.

It clattered, when it hit the ground.

And then there was nothing but the endless blackness of the black hole, which pressed its non existent lips down at his lips…

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _

And suddenly the blackness was gone. He fell on the earth, unable to do anything but lying there and waiting for death. His limps wouldn't move, his head throbbed with all-overwhelming pain.

His vision was foggy, but he could still see the flaming figure of a phoenix, gliding through the air. Light bright like the sun, golden and warm, full of fire and life and happiness. The Dementors cried with pain, when the white-golden light of the phoenix hit them. The darkness fled where the light hit. The cold withdrew, leaving his limbs lifeless but warm. The alleyway was bathed in daylight-bright light. Red flames dancing through the air, burning the black cloth of the Dementors, turning the coldness in warmness. High-pitched screams escaped the lip-less, endless holes, while claw-like death-hands weathered to ashes.

It took him a moment to understand, that the phoenix was in fact a Patronus.

_Dumbledore? _Hope filled his heart when this word filled his thoughts. _Dumbledore?!_

"Dumb…" he began, but he could not finish his word – _not Dumbledore?_

The bright daylight that came with the phoenix was not the light of a Patronus. The feeling instead was that of a Patronus. But was it Dumbledore's?

The answer came a moment later, when a figure emerged from the darkness of the alleyway. Its black cloak billowed in no existent wind, a cloak made of shadow and fog, black like the endless hole of the Dementor-mouth, shadowy like the grim, coming for prey. It was nearly seven feet tall and its eyes glowed with death in the darkness, promising a soundless Avada Kedavra, more beautiful as Voldemort would ever be able to produce, promising a green lightning to everyone brave enough to cross its path.

_Not Dumbledore._

_Not save._

_Rescue - had to… rescue himself – _

His hands chafed at the rough asphalt, searching for his wand again – _do not give up – _

There was nothing but asphalt, dirt and darkness. His hands began to search faster and faster. His breathing hitched. He could not give up, not now, not after he could think clearly again.

And while his hands where searching fanatically, his eyes were never leaving the death-eyes in front of him, daring the figure to stay away, to let him go. But there was no way to escape a born predator…

Pain shoot through his head, dizziness filled his mind – _can't give up – _

The figure drew near. Its hood prevented its features to be seen. Just its death-eyes gleamed in the light.

It bowed down to him, eyes of death met eyes of Avada Kedavra-green again.

"_Bow to death, Harry" _The voice was oddly warm, like a summer wind in autumn, tingling through the air like the unearthly voice of an elf. "_It will be painless. I know, I have been there. Bow to death and move on!"_

A gentle hand cupped his head; the fingers of the other hand drew runes on his forehead and his scar.

"_Sleep well, precious child. May you never live again."_

And suddenly there was light all around him. His hands, scrapped at the asphalt and still bleeding, lightened up in symbols he had never seen before. His chest ached as it began to glow through his shirt. His eyes hurt when his face lit up with light.

And then the phoenix-Patronus returned. It stopped a few inches from his chest, a thrilling voice singing a song, filled with death and resurrection. A phoenix-song.

He tried to move, he tried to flee but the hands had a death-grip on him and his limbs where limp. Even if he tried, he could not move…

Then the fingers on his forehead stopped and the hands vanished.

He would have sighted in relief if this hadn't been the moment, the phoenix-Patronus had chosen to act.

Before he could react, the phoenix crossed the last inches to his chest and entered.

Fire.

A burning sensation filled his senses. Where his skin had glowed a moment before it stood suddenly literally on fire.

He cried with pain.

His body turned to ashes, he could feel it.

And then it felt like being sucked through a needle eye and he was gone.

He lost consciousness.

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_I hope you liked my beginning. _


	2. Chapter 1: Playing Harry

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

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**Playing Harry**

sss

A shadow emerged from the darkness of the alleyway.

"You know, you will have trouble because of his spells" it said. The other one – a man in his early twenties – shrugged.

"I may" He answered. "But even if I have it will be a child's play."

"Sa…"

"It's 'Harry' now" The man corrected and snatched the vanished boy's lost glasses from the ground. "You should become accustomed to it."

"We will never speak in public."

"Then do it for me. I will have to learn to answer to that name now."

"You will. But I never understood why you had to vanish the boy in the first place. He is just a mere boy – so why troubling yourself with schemes to finish him of?"

"It had to be like that, Reg. He would not have survived tonight. He was never meant to survive."

"That you say. Do you have visions to know such things?" Now the other raised an eyebrow.

"I don't" 'Harry' answered. "But I learned a long time ago that some things are unchangeable. I tried. I tried to rescue the boy before – I was unable to. I did not even find the place the boy lived at – even when I _knew_ where it was, I could not find it – and I also could not rescue others. Believe me, I tried. How I tried…"

The other one stayed silence after these words. 'Harry' glanced at the place the vanished boy – the former Harry Potter – had been some minutes before.

"I will be Harry now." He finally said. "It was my plan from the start."

"And you really_ can_ do it?" Reg asked. "It won't be easy. You have to behave exactly like the boy… and… well… you are older than him…"

"Well, that's not a problem." The other answered and closed his eyes in concentration. A minute later he was a little more than five years younger and several inches smaller.

"There we go." He said, while picking up the boys wand. Then he glamoured his longer hair and clothes with his own wand and changed the glasses' lenses to window glass.

"There we go" he said and put the glasses on. "How do I look?"

"Like the boy" Reg answered while looking the other one critical over. "Are you sure you are able to play Harry?"

"Of course I am."

"Then you just have to lose your accent." Reg concluded. "No-one will believe that you are Harry when you have a foreign accent."

'Harry' sighted.

"I will lose it" he finally answered. "I haven't spoken English in a long time. It will take some time to think in it again…"

"You…" But whatever the other one wanted to say, he was interrupted before even uttering the first word –

"Go! There is someone coming!"

Reg reacted instantly. One moment he was still there, the next a small, black cat fled in the dark. The other one spun around and pointed Harry's wand to the face of the newcomer. It was Harry's old babysitter, Mrs Figg. Hastily 'Harry' started to stow his wand away.

"_Don't put it away, idiot boy!" she shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to _kill _Mundungus Fletcher!"_

So she was one of them – Dumbledore's men. Reg and he had been lucky that she hadn't seen them together. 'Harry' had never been more thankful for concealing charms. But now he had to play his part…

"_What?" _he asked trying to sound stunned.

"_He left!" said Mrs Figg, wringing her hands. "Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons…"_ She rambled on, but 'Harry' turned her of. Instead he took the time to slip into his Harry-persona. He had to be Harry now. He had to answer to Harry, he had to think about himself as Harry… he had simply to _be _Harry. It would be difficult, but there was no other way…

So he let her ramble, sometimes asking questions Harry would have asked, like: _"This Mundungus has been following me?" _and _"You know Dumbledore?"_

Then he let her go to Dudley and trying to get him up.

_She stooped down, seized one of Dudley's massive arms in her wizened hands and tugged._

"_Get _up, _you useless lump, get _up!"

Dudley instead could or would not move so 'Harry' finally declared, that he would do it and heaved the boy up from the ground. He was heavy, but not as heavy as other things 'Harry' had carried. Of course he could not let show that he was stronger than the real Harry, so he tried to look as if he struggled very much.

"_Hurry up!" said Mrs Figg hysterically._ And 'Harry' followed her lead, let her peek around corners, aware, that there was somewhere in the dark a black cat laughing at him.

"_Keep your wand out" _he did as he was told, not caring to share that the Dementors were gone and would not return. Even they were not dumb enough to try a stunt like that again. A Dementor-born like 'Harry' could kill them without trying much – they would not risk it to anger him.

So he let her drag him along and tried to act like a fifteen year old should, even when Mundungus Fletcher returned and he had the urge to hex the useless scum just to show him what he thought of him.

It wasn't easy. He had to ask Mrs Figg if she would like to use Hedwig to send a message to Dumbledore and he had to act not offended when she said, he wouldn't understand, when he in reality understood very well. The ministry wanted to disgrace him – they would try to expel him, well Harry, and they would stoop low enough to use any excuse they got. A Patronus, even if not fully formed, would be enough – not that they knew, the Patronus never fully formed with Harry's wand…

Finally they reached the door to Privet Drive No 4. Playing the uninformed boy he wasn't, he asked questions about following and shouted after her to wait – because he had _sooo _many questions…

To his luck, Mrs Figg just went on and didn't stop.

xXx

One moment he hesitated, then he readjusted Dudley on his shoulder and made his way to the house. He finally put his wand again and prepared to meet his aunt. Then he sighted and went on. There was no chance delaying it.

His aunt wasn't happy what had happened. She fussed over her son, crying "Diddy, Diddy, Diddy!" and 'Harry' let her. He let her, until Dudley suddenly accused him of doing something. Then he knew, that this evening would not end quiet.

"_What have you done to my son?" _Uncle Vernon growled.

"_Nothing" said 'Harry', knowing perfectly well that Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him._

"_What did he do to you, Diddy?" Aunt Petunia said in a quavering voice, now sponging sick from the front of Dudley's leather jacket. "Was it – was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use – his _thing?"

_Slowly, tremulously, Dudley nodded._

Harry protested. And then the owls came. It started with one, swooping in the kitchen window. While his uncle bellowed and slammed the kitchen window shut, 'Harry' ripped open the envelope to read the message.

xXx

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We have received intelligence that you performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabitated area and in the presence of a Muggle._

_The severity of this breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery has resulted in your expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Ministry representatives will be calling at your place of residence shortly to destroy your wand._

_As you have already received an official warning for a previous offence under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 9 a.m. on the twelfth of August._

_Hoping you are well,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

_xXx_

He read it, and then he had to read it again. He was sure, he misunderstood it. But the context didn't change with a second and third reading. He still read the phrases "_expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry"_ and "_calling … shortly to destroy your wand". _They could not, would not…

'Harry' read the letter for his fifth time. They really did. "Expulsion" He thought "calling shortly to destroy my wand."

And then he cracked. He tried to hold it in, tried to let it not be seen by his relatives – but how he wanted! How he wanted!

'Harry' wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh until he cried. The Ministry was eager, so eager to expulse him, to disgrace him. Oh, how eager they were, playing in his hands while trying to destroy him!

A fifteen year old Gryffindor might be unable to think clearly out of fear. But he was no fifteen year old – and he was no Gryffindor. He feared not their coming, he laughed at them, them and their eagerness to punish him for his crimes…

And then he could not stop himself anymore. He chuckled.

"What is it now, boy?" Uncle Vernon sneered.

"They are coming to destroy my wand" he answered, still chuckling.

"And you think that funny?!" His uncle looked at him as if he had lost his mind – and maybe it really looked like that.

"Yes" He answered, not caring, that his accent was back. "I really think that."

"So… destroying your… _thing… _doesn't that mean they threw you out?" Uncle Vernon asked suspiciously.

"Yes! Yes, it does!" 'Harry' tried to calm himself, but he knew it was nearly an impossible task.

"So you think it funny, that they threw you out?"

'Harry' chuckled again at these words.

"You don't understand the magical world, uncle" he answered. "And it seems you are not the only one. They cannot throw me out – even if they want to."

"So you think yourself above your own kind, too, don't you, boy?" Uncle Vernon concluded and 'Harry' chuckled again.

"I don't" he grinned at his uncle. "But they think themselves above all others. They will pay for this."

Uncle Vernon opened his mouth to reply to this, when a next owl collided with the closed kitchen window.

"OWLS!" he yelled instead while Harry just opened the window and freed the owl of its burden. It was another letter.

xXx

_Harry – _

_Dumbledore's just arrived at the Ministry and he's trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE'S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT SURRENDER YOU WAND._

_Arthur Weasley_

_xXx_

Now Harry laughed openly. Dumbledore sorted all out?! Oh, yeah, he would. He would not lose his pawn. Poor Dumbledore, who didn't know that his pawn perished tonight.

Poor, poor Dumbledore…

Now 'Harry' cackled like mad.

Poor, poor old fool Dumbledore…

"What was that again?" Uncle Vernon bellowed and Harry grinned.

"A reminder to stay here. All mighty Dumbledore is trying to 'sort it all out'"

"And you are still not worried" Uncle Vernon observed. Harry shrugged and took some deep breaths. His laughing fit succumbed. "I will never be" he said now more calmly.

"And why would you not be worried, when they come to destroy your – your _thing. _When they do something like that, you must have done something to receive this kind of treating!"

"Oh, I did" Harry confessed. "I did do magic."

"_AHA!" roared Uncle Vernon, slamming his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several of Dudley's low-fat snacks toppled out and burst on the floor. "So you admit it! _What did you do to Dudley?"

"_Nothing"_ But it was not good enough. Dudley accused him and his uncle and aunt would believe Dudley over him.

So he let Dudley describe the Dementor attack, starring at his white-faced aunt – until Dudley lacked the words to describe his feelings. Then he supplied:

"_As if you'd never be happy again."_

"_Yes" Dudley whispered, still trembling._

And again they began to accuse him, so he said calmly.

"_It wasn't me. It was a couple of Dementors!"_

"_A couple of – what's this codswallop?" _This was Uncle Vernon, so 'Harry' repeated.

"_De – men – tors" said 'Harry' slowly and clearly. "Two of them."_

"_And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?"_

"_They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban", said Aunt Petunia._

_Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Aunt Petunia clapped her hand over her mouth as though she had let slip a disgusting swear word. Uncle Vernon was goggling at her._

Well, that was something that 'Harry' had not expected. His aunt knew of Azkaban?!

"_How d'you know that?" he asked her, astonished._

_Aunt Petunia looked quiet appalled with herself. She glanced at Uncle Vernon in fearful apology, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth._

"_I heard – that awful boy – telling _her _about them – years ago" she said jerkily._

And suddenly he knew from whom she had learned it. Still, he could not resist saying something that he knew as false just to see her reaction…

"_If you mean my mum and dad, why don't you use their names?"_

To his disappointment she didn't answer. Instead he had to watch while Uncle Vernon confirmed the Dementor's existence with his wife – _boring._

And then the next owl came. And while Uncle Vernon slammed the window shut again, Harry opened the letter.

xXx

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken._

_Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries._

_With best wishes,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mafalda Hopkirk_

_Improper Use of Magic Office_

_Ministry of Magic_

_xXx_

This letter nearly started again a burst of laughter. So no-one was coming?! He still had consider himself as expelled? The ministry really seemed eager to help him!

And then of course, there was poor all mighty Dumbledore, rushing to his rescue…

Well, would 'Harry' be a well-behaved pawn, he would be absolutely grateful to all mighty Dumbledore. But he wasn't, and so he could just try to hold back another laughing fit, that seemed to trickle his throat. Yes, all mighty Dumbledore had stopped the Aurors from coming and destroy his wand! How lovely of him! How grateful he must be for this unnecessary help!

Of course, he would be a well-behaved little pawn, staying here and waiting for rescue!

All mighty Dumbledore – poor Harry will grovel to your feet, licking your shoes and trying to serve you…

'Harry' cracked again. Oh how he would love this game! Oh how he would love to grovel and to blow it all up in Dumbledore's face! And then the ministry…

"_Well?" said Uncle Vernon, recalling 'Harry' to his surroundings._

"_I've got to go to a hearing" said Harry._

"_And they'll sentence you there?"_

"_I suppose so."_

"_I won't give up hope, then" said Uncle Vernon nastily._

"_Well, if that's all."_ But of course it wasn't. It took another explanation, another letter from his godfather to simply say to stay home and a Howler after Uncle Vernon tried to throw him out until it was all…

xXx

And now 'Harry' was lying on his bed, sighting. What an awful day to start being Harry. He suddenly wished he had never vanished the boy – not that that had been an option…

So he was lying on his bed, after he had written letters to Ron, Hermione and Sirius, waiting for Hedwig, and repeating one sentence in his mind. One sentence, that was still troubling him. But he needed to believe this sentence – his life might later depend to it. He had to get that right!

And so he lay in the darkness, repeating one sentence over and over again…

"I am Harry James Potter, Son of James and Lily Potter. I am Harry James Potter, Son of James and Lily Potter…" it sounded foreign in his own ears. It simply sounded wrong – and it was wrong. His name wasn't Harry James Potter – it never had been. But for now it had to be. He had vanished the other boy and had decided to take his place – and that included to take the name…

"I am Harry James Potter. I am Harry James Potter" Oh how he hated that name! Harry was an awful name for a wizard! It definitely wasn't a proper wizarding name. It might be a good mundane name, but as a wizard, all that counted was ancestry – and the name "Harry" was to young in the wizarding world to show great ancestry. So there was no way, that "Harry" was a proper wizard name…

And Harry's parents had known that – the only one who didn't was Harry himself…

"I am Harry James Potter, son of James and Lily Potter. I am Harry James…"

"But I am not!" this time he said it aloud, needed to hear the truth, even if it was just a single time. "I might have to call me that for the next months but there is no way I ever will be a foolish Gryffindor like you! I am not Harry James Potter! And I hate being called Harry!" It felt good to rant, even if it did not help him at all. He would have to get used to being called Harry, there was no way tp get back the name he had left behind today.

"You have planed that for the last decade" he told himself. "You will not back out now when you have finally nearly reached your goal! Just a little bit longer and you finally have the revenge you longed for the longest time. They will not cross you again. They will not use you again. And it will be a bitter-sweet revenge when their own pawn delivers the final blow!" And because of that he had to endure being Harry for the time being. It was all for the _greater good _after all. He ginned like a lunatic when he told himself this sentence. He would love to throw this sentence back at the owner…

In that moment Hedwig swept in and 'Harry' stopped his rambling.

"Hello, girl" he said instead and waited until Hedwig greeted him like an old friend. "I have some letters for you. Would you please carry them to Ron, Hermione and Sirius?"

She nipped his finger, and took of after he had secured the letters. And 'Harry' went to his window, looking out and following her flight until he could not see her anymore. Then his gaze turned to the ground, where a black cat was sitting, looking up to him. He winked and then started starring in the night again, waiting for a black cat which climbed up to him. When it came on the window sill, Harry started to pet it.

The cat let him caress it for a few moments, but then it tried to jump in. 'Harry' stopped it with his hands.

"Don't turn back, Reg" he said. "I'm sure there are guards in the garden. We would not like to be seen."

The cat purred under his fingers.

"Don't worry. They will come and take me away" 'Harry' said while starring to the stars. "They will be there in a few nights. Until then we will have time. And after that – I'm sure they will bring me to Grimauld. You just have to stay hidden until I can let you in."

The cat rubbed its head at his hand.

"I will have to carry you in, because you won't find it alone, but that's alright. I will do it as soon as all are asleep in the first night there. The Fidelius might stop you from finding it and me from speaking about it – but you know where it should be and I won't have to speak about it to bring you in. Just be ready. I think you will see me arrive. Wait that night for me."

The cat purred again, than it stood up and left him the same way it had slipped in. 'Harry' grinned. The Ministry would be very sorry when he was finished with them – very, very sorry…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	3. Chapter 2: A Twisted Message

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

_**Oliver Twist:**__ Last year I read the book 'Oliver Twist' and I liked the name. I thought the figure of Oliver Twist was fitting for Harry Potter as a synonym when I started to think about a Slytherin!Harry story and a different way for him to go against the Ministry – I just had no idea how he would do it. Then I read __**Celestial Requiem**__ by __**Raven Dagonclaw **__and decided to use the Daily Prophet for his protest. I researched the Daily Prophet in the books and found it too bias to even decide to print anything 'Oliver Twist' would print. So I decided that Harry should challenge the Daily Prophet along the Ministry and that he should use the Quibbler to do so. A friend then told me about__** GenkaiFan's Poison Pen**__ and that she/he was doing the same as I had planned. So I read Poison Pen and decided to ask for permission to do the same as it really was quiet similar. I got the permission to use the same idea. I am sorry I forgot to add this when I first posted this part of the story. I decided to update it, to correct the mistake and to bow to GenkaiFan whose story is all I hope mine will be some day._

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**A Twisted Message**

sss

It had been a very quiet morning for Barnabas Cuffe, chief-editor of the Daily Prophet, well that was until Rebecca Amorin, his security editor, entered his bureau, carrying a peace of pergament in her hands.

"Becky" he said, greeting her grinning and watching her frowning. He knew she hated to be called 'Becky' and because of this he could not resist doing exactly that. "What brings you to me today?"

She stared another second at him, willing him to take back the nickname, then sighted.

"Grizel" she said. Now it was Barnabas who frowned.

"Grizel Hurtz?" he clarified. Grizel Hurtz was one of his advice columnists and also the woman who checked his mail every day. "Did someone try to curse me with a letter?"

"No" Becky shook her head. "But there is a letter addressed solely to you."

"And?"

"It's from one of our readers."

Well, that was a new one. Barnabas raised his eyebrow and held out his hand to take the letter. Becky handed it to him, wringing her hands.

"You have read it" Barnabas said.

"I have" the young woman nodded. "You should also read it, Barnabas."

Barnabas sighted, but did as he was told. The letter said:

xXx

_Dear Editor,_

_I have been following your newspaper the last months and your articles made me wonder: How come a serious newspaper, like you claim to be, can print such contradicting articles?!_

_There was a time, when I thought your newspaper was printing facts, but now I am starting to doubt my beliefs._

_Ever since the first article about Harry Potter and the Tri-Wizard-Tournament I started to wonder if your paper is more concerned about sales then actual accuracy. The reason is simple: the facts you have been printing did not match my own observation._

_I am a student at Hogwarts and therefore am able to observe Potter more often then the press. And while you have been printing about a little lost boy or a barking mad individual, I have problems to see either in the boy, I have seen in the halls of our school._

_So, how serious are these "facts" you have been printing, really? Will you change your opinion again, when new information, that you can't ignore come to light?!_

_Maybe, when the boy starts to be a poster-boy for the Ministry – will you then redeem the "facts" you have been printing now? Because it seems to me as if your opinion often strangely matches the opinion the Ministry has at that time. _

_So is this the freedom of the press in the wizarding world?_

_Writing the Ministry preferred versions, using facts to lead your readers to wrong conclusions, using unethical means to get your information?_

_Where is the serious journalism I am looking for?! Even the Muggles are able to print a newspaper without being biased, inaccurate or libelous._

_So why does it seem like the wizarding world is not able to do it?!_

_Is it out of fear? Is it out of ignorance?_

_Or do wizards and witches simply prefer to be blindfolded and leaded like sheep to the slaughter?_

_I dare you to print this letter. If you don't, I finally know that your newspaper is nothing more then a simplistic, biased gossip-rag._

_Oliver Twist_

xXx

"By Merlin!" was the first thing, Barnabas uttered after reading the letter.

"I thought the same, boss" Becky answered, gritting her teeth. "Will we print it?"

When Barnabas looked up to her, he saw that she was just asking out of principle. Both of them knew they would not be able to print the letter – not as long as the Ministry was holding the major parts of their stocking.

"We won't" he answered, sighting.

"So we proclaim ourselves as a gossip-rag." Becky said with a bitter tone marring her voice.

"No" Barnabas said, still looking at the letter in his hands. "We do not proclaim ourselves anything. We _are _a gossip-rag."

This time a bitter tone had also entered his voice.

"And we will stay one until… I don't know…" he sighted defeated. "When I entered this newspaper I had great dreams. I dreamed of the serious journalism I knew from my Muggle-father who was a journalist himself…"

"Instead you got this" Becky sneered while gesturing at the office and the newspaper articles which would land in the rubbish bin just because they did not follow the Ministry guide-lines.

"Yes and no" Barnabas answered, now slightly smiling, even if his smile was more a grimace then anything else. "When I entered this newspaper we were printing serious news" he clarified.

"Then why?!"

"The Weasley family was one of the major stock-holders in our newspaper" Barnabas answered sighting. "They had to sell their holdings when they suddenly had money-problems. I still don't know how that happened… And after that… well, there is no-one who can hold the Black-stocking at the moment – not until Sirius Black gives up his right as the Heir of Black or dies. The Prevett-stocking have been sold alongside the Weasley's and the Potter's… well, there was no-one interested in them until now – and even if the boy would be interested. He cannot do anything until he is of age and he has too less to make a different…"

"So there is no major player except of the Ministry" Becky concluded angrily. "And so they can dictate us what to do."

"Yes, my dear, I fear you are right" Barnabas answered sighting.

"How much does the Ministry have?" Becky asked bitter.

"Thirty percent" Barnabas answered. "And the Malfoy family, who aid the Minister have another five."

"And the rest?" Becky asked and Barnabas could hear her hope. He sighted.

"There are the ten percent of the Blacks and the five of the Potters" he answered "The Weasleys and the Prevetts both once had twenty percent – and were because of that the major players. Now these forty percent belong to… wait a minute…"

Barnabas opened his drawer and took out a thick file, looking trough it.

"Ah, there it is" he said. "Weasley now belongs to the French side of the Malfoy family, the Malfoires, the Prevett stocking was divided in ten percent for Grim, five for Evans and some other minor stock-holders like Peverell, Longbottom or Emrys – don't ask me which, they all got shares at nearly the same time. But fact is, there is no-one there who has more then two or three percent. The only other stock-holder who even has five percent is the Flamel family."

"And so the Ministry can do what they like" Becky concluded.

Barnabas sighted and nodded.

"So there is no way…"

"No…"

Becky took the letter again and stared at it sadly. Barnabas knew she hated the fact that they could do nothing then obey the Ministry. When he would tell the truth, he himself did not feel different from her. Still…

And suddenly he smiled.

"Maybe…" he said and Becky looked up. "Maybe we should lose this letter – how about going to Ottery St. Catchpole to do so?"

Becky looked at him as if he had lost his mind. Then he nearly could hear the clicking when she finally caught what he was talking about.

"Maybe" she answered smiling. "And maybe I will lose it today at lunch."

"Do so" Barnabas answered. "And now, back to work, my dear. And don't forget, I do not want to see this letter again."

"Yes, boss" she answered, clutching the letter to her chest while leaving the room. When the door finally closed, Barnabas grinned evilly. He knew he would have problems because of the lost letter – but he would love to deal with them. He finally could best the Ministry – even if it was in a twisted way like that…

"Oliver Twist" he chuckled. "What an interesting choice of a name."

And then he returned to his work as if nothing had happened at all.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	4. Chapter 3: Diagon Alley

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Diagon Alley**

sss

"You know, you should not come here." The voice was just whispering, while the person speaking was bowing down to him to stop being overheard.

"I said they will come in a few days – and don't worry, the Dursley's won't miss me. They have after all forbidden me to leave my room."

"And still you are wandering out in the street – out in broad daylight!"

"Stop worrying, Reg. You're here with me – so what could happen?"

"S… Harry! There is no 'what could'! You are a wanted person…"

"You let it sound as if I was a criminal, Reg."

"You know what I mean! You are famous! What will you do when they find out that…"

"When you would stop to scream – then maybe they never will find out" Harry answered, rolling his eyes. "I am wearing a glamour, Reg and I am also wearing my normal clothes – there is no way they would connect _me _with Harry Potter."

"Could you not just have changed back to normal and come here like that?" Reg asked, still uncomfortable, while looking at the wizards and witches walking on the street around them.

"Nope, sorry" Harry answered, popping the p.

"You sound like a fifteen year old teenager" Reg said irritated.

"I _am _a fifteen year old teenager" Harry corrected grinning.

"No, you might be looking like one, but I am sure as hell that you aren't one." Reg answered still looking like wanting to be elsewhere.

"Oh, shut up, Reg, and have a little bit fun!" Harry answered while nearly dancing down Diagon Alley to Gringotts.

They entered together. Harry's glamour fell.

And suddenly Harry's childish behavior was gone, as if it never had existed in the first place.

He walked to one of the tellers and said.

"May you join the warriors today, clan-brother!" his voice suddenly sounded rougher, changing with the language. The Gobbledygook that left his mouth was fluent but accentuated with a more ancient accent.

The teller looked up, stunned to be greeted in his own tongue.

"And may your business go well" he finally answered Harry, intrigued what the wizard-boy in front of him wanted.

"I would like to meet Nardog" Harry said. "My name is Potter."

The goblin blinked again, then his gaze flickered to Harry's scar. Harry sighted, but said nothing.

"Very well Mr. Potter." The goblin finally answered. "I will bring you to him immediately."

And with that he closed his post and brought them through the hall and into the depth of Gringotts Bank.

Harry was not afraid. He knew most of the wizards were either uncomfortable or afraid to enter more than the lobby and their Vaults in Gringotts, intimidated by the golden walls, the figurines out of marble, gold or silver and the floor-high paintings of the goblin wars.

No, Harry wasn't afraid.

He even once stopped and looked at one of the paintings while walking through the holy halls of Gringotts. The goblin also stopped when noticing Harry did not follow anymore.

"Ah… yes… the battle of the great North Fields" he said proudly. "One of the greatest victories in our history – and thanks to the healers the one with the least deaths."

"And a very bloody one" Harry said, still staring. "It might have been a huge success, but the causality rate was intimidating. It took three days and a lot of Stasis Charms to prevent the most of them from dying."

The goblin stared at Harry, this time angry looking.

"Whatever your history books say, whatever you heard, _wizard_" he said coolly. "It is wrong. The goblin are a proud and strong race! They were fighting and winning – not lying on the ground dying at the end of the day."

"Winning and dying do not exclude each other" Harry answered but went on. The goblin huffed and followed.

"Wizards" he snorted. "Always want to be stronger then everyone."

"They may want to" Harry answered despite the distance between them which would normally prevent to understand the whispered comment of the goblin. "But my comment was not about power. It was about causalities."

The goblin looked surprised at that.

"Don't you think, talking about goblins dying in masses while fighting against your kind and putting our race down, isn't quite the same?" He asked.

Harry shrugged.

"My kind never fought against goblins – so maybe it might be the same."

The goblin opened his mouth to tell Harry, that they had fought against wizards before – the painting was clearly showing it – but Harry did not let himself be interrupted.

"But it is not, when talking about the war against the wizards." He continued. "Having lethal wounds and surviving it – that's not about weakness, that's about strength."

The goblin shut his mouth, then he finally uttered.

"You have a strange way of thinking, Mr. Potter."

"Normally the people around me get eventually used to it" Harry answered casually. "Maybe it's because I am an _Olde _one – maybe they all think differently then the rest. That even _would _explain some of Oncle Nick's behavior, I think…"

The goblin stared at him, but before he could utter another sentences, he was interrupted by Reg.

"Or maybe it is just you" Reg answered Harry. "Being a child all over again could have done something to your brain, after all."

"It could" Harry answered grinning while following the goblin through a door. "But then I would have gone crazy way before now."

"Maybe you have."

Before Harry could answer, a second goblin entered.

"Mr. Potter I presume" the goblin said, inclining his head.

"Nardog!" Harry answered, bowing. "Have you fought today, my friend?"

The answer was a grin.

"I had a blessing challenge" he answered the question. It was a traditional goblin-greeting, normally only used in formal occasions. The wizard in front of him instead used it since they had met for the first time.

"I normally would give you my dagger to answer" the boy said grinning. "But today I am not equipped with it, so an invitation to train with me will have to do."

At that, Nardog raised an eyebrow.

"No dagger today?" He asked, grinning slightly. "You are lacking, Mr Potter."

"Oh – I do have daggers with me" the boy answered shrugging, "but I laced them yesterday with my venom. I do not recommend using them in a traditional greeting at the moment."

Nardog shuddered.

"I am in complete agreement, my friend" he answered, still shivering at the thought of Basilisk-venom laced daggers in a traditional greeting where the blade was handled with bare hands. "I think I will accept your verbal invitation today."

The boy grinned.

"I thought as much" he answered. Nardog nodded and then waved at the goblin to send him away. Reg looked a moment at Harry, then he, too, left. He had to do some own business at the bank. As soon as the door was closed and the privacy-spells were in place, Nardog returned to their business.

"So, what can I do for you today, Morganaadth?"

The boy's demeanour changed again. His eyes getting cold and calculating.

"How far are you with my plans?" he asked.

"Quite far" Nardog answered while searching for his documents. "I have bought you shares of several companies in the wizarding and Muggle world."

"Mundane" the boy said.

"I beg your pardon?" Nardog asked.

"It's 'mundane world', not 'Muggle world'" Harry answered.

"Mundane world" Nardog corrected, not sure why it was important.

The boy nodded.

"The share is on different names?" He asked.

"Yes, Morganaadth" the goblin answered. "I used every name I could use."

The boy nodded again.

"The other things I asked you to do?"

The goblin handed him a large folder.

"It's everything in there since the death of the last Lord." He said. "I sorted it by person – not that there is so much to sort."

"Thank you. That will do nicely" Harry answered while shrinking the folder with a wave of his hand before putting it away.

"Is there anything else, Morganaadth?" Nardog asked.

Harry looked at him, inclining his head.

"There might" he said casually.

"I will need a barrister soon. Do you know someone I can trust with this" he pointed at the pocket he had stowed away the folder. "And all the other stuff?"

"I will look into it and send you my answer." Nardog said. "You can read Gobbledegook?"

"I think I should manage" Harry replied. "My knowledge is not up-to-date anymore but it sure will do for this."

"Then I will use it to ensure privacy."

Harry inclined his head again.

"It will do for now" he said. "I will tell you as soon as I have installed something saver."

"Something saver?"

"Just one thing I have in my mind" Harry answered.

"So, this would be all for today?" The goblin asked.

Harry pondered, then he nodded.

"I will have to look over the facts you gave me, before doing something further," he said. "Is there something else you want to share?"

The goblin showed his teeth – the gesture a goblin made instead of shaking their head the negative.

"Then the only thing I need today is to make a withdrawal" Harry finally said. "My vault, not Harry's Trust Vault."

xXx

Ten minutes later Harry left Gringotts.

Reg still wasn't there so Harry guest that the business of the other wizard was taking longer than planned.

Well, Harry had still some things to do in Diagon Alley.

So Harry left the stairs leading into the bank and went to Ollivander.

The room he entered hadn't changed at all since the last time he had been there – the time he had been eleven and started Hogwarts. It was still packed with wands, old, dusty and lit in dim light.

But there also was a difference to the last time.

Last time the old Ollivander had been able to surprise him, this time his senses already told him, where the old man had hid himself.

And when the man emerged he looked straight in the other ones pale, wide, moon-like eyes.

"Welcome, Mr. Potter" Ollivander said, tilting his head and studying him intensely.

"I was not aware, that you are again in need of my arts."

"I am not" Harry answered. "I still_ do_ have my wand."

"Then how come I find you here in my shop?" Ollivander asked, now even more intrigued by the young wizard in front of him. Normally there were just a few occasions a wizard would find his way to Ollivander's shop – and usually he heard about a broken wand before the owner would stand in his door.

"You are not here to buy a second one, are you, Mr. Potter?" he asked.

"What would you say, if I'd answer 'yes'?" The boy asked interested.

"Then I would tell you, that carrying more than one wand was forbidden in 1955 for everyone who was born after the law or who did not have at that time a second one already." Ollivander answered.

"It was?" The boy looked at him surprised. "This is something I must have missed…"

"Then you were here for a second wand?" Ollivander inquired interested.

"I wasn't" the boy answered. "I do have enough wands. I do not need another."

This answer startled the wand-maker.

"You have _enough_ wands? Beg to tell how many do you have in you possession to say such a thing?"

The boy shrugged and waved his hand dismissively.

"That does not concern you, Mr. Ollivander" he said simply. "And it is better when I stay silent about that when possessing them might be a crime."

Ollivander stared at the boy, but he had to give it to him: It really was better to stay silent about something like that.

"So what _can_ I do for you, Mr. Potter?" he finally asked.

"I need a wrist-holster" The boy answered while revealing an old and worn wrist-holster on his right hand. He loosened it and put it on Ollivander's counter.

"I need something like that" he said, "and it needs to be high quality."

Ollivander blinked and studied the leather of the wrist-holster and the wand-shafts he could see looking out of it.

"May I?" he asked gesturing at the wands.

The boy shrugged.

"You may" he said casually, as if he had no problem with a wizard touching his wands. Every other wizard definitely would have denied Ollivander the request or at least would have been wary.

Ollivander first withdraw one of the wands.

It was the one the lad had bought here when he was eleven. This time it was in a good condition – different then the last time Ollivander had seen the boy's wand at the Tri-Wizard-Tournament in Hogwarts. It was neatly clean and polished.

Ollivander put it down on his desk and withdrew the other one.

The only thing he could do was gasp when he held it in his hands – and suddenly he knew why the lad had not been worried about Ollivander having his wands.

While the other wand had felt alright in Ollivander's hands, this definitely didn't.

It had power – Ollivander could feel it radiating off from it – but it also wasn't willing to bow to any master except for its own.

"Where did you get it from?" Ollivander asked, his eyes following the midget carvings of the wand. Runes? "It surly is powerful."

And old, so very old…

Ollivander could not even detect who had crafted it but he could feel the masters present all over it, nearly embodied in the wand itself. Whoever had used this wand, he had used it for a very, very long time. And not only that…

"Does it matter where I got it from?" The boy asked. "I can use it, that's enough."

"You mustn't use it!"

When he nearly screamed that, the boy looked at him surprised.

"And pray tell why not?" he finally asked.

"This one was used for dark magic" Ollivander said. "It is not a good idea to use something like that. Using an object like that will harm you eventually, Mr. Potter."

"It won't harm me" the boy answered. "And it wasn't used for the Evil Arts."

Ollivander sighted at that.

"I do know my métier, Mr. Potter" he told the boy. "And I can tell that this wand was used for rituals. Let me tell you, Mr. Potter, I do not know any ritual that is used for good."

The boy chuckled.

"Do not worry about that, Mr. Ollivander" He said, "There is always something in the world you do not know. But I guarantee you, this wand was never used for evil. It might have killed, it might have healed – but it never was touched with the essence of true evil."

Ollivander wanted to protest, but was cut off by the lad.

"The wand-holster I need, please." He said. "Because even if I know that the other one never was used for evil I do not like the thought of it resting with my other wand in the same holster. Their magic works too differently that it would do both of them any good when it stayed like this for too long."

That Ollivander could not deny, but one moment he still hesitated. Then he sighted and took out his wand-holsters.

"What kind of holster do you like?" He asked. "There are some with some practical spells on it…"

"I want a plain one" The lad answered and Ollivander raised an eyebrow.

"This wand-holster also isn't plain" he finally said, gesturing to the holster on his counter.

"It isn't" the boy answered. "But I can do these runes by myself. I just don't have the time to craft the holster also."

Ollivander stared at the lad, surprise in his eyes.

"Runes like that aren't easy. To be able to do them you must have not less than NEWT-level Ancient Runes. I don't think you're old enough…"

"Don't worry. I am able to." The boy said and to Ollivander's surprise he suddenly could not even doubt the boy. Whatever had happened in the last five years – the young boy in front of him had definitely aged beyond his years.

"So you just need one holster or will you replace that one?" He pointed at the worn holster on his counter.

"Just one" the boy answered. "I don't want to replace the other one just yet. It belonged to someone dear to me – I will use it as long as I can."

Ollivander guessed that the holster was one of the boy's parents' ones. He could not blame the boy for wanting to keep it.

The boy paid, put the old wand-holster with the old wand in it back on and then the other one right beside the old one with his own wand in it, then he walked out.

Ollivander's gaze followed the boy out in the sunshine. For one moment Ollivander thought that he saw a dead man waiting for the boy.

"Do you have it?" the boy asked the dead.

"I do" the other answered. "It took some time, but I got it."

"Stow it away until later." The boy commanded. "Best would be near you-know-where."

Then Harry Potter and his companion vanished, apparating away – even if the boy should still not be able to.

Ollivander blinked again. And then it dawned to him, that he just had witnessed something from greater importance he had ever seen, a secret buried deeper than all other secrets he had ever come across…

"Maybe today is the day I should actually forget something" Ollivander reasoned. "I think I don't want to be in young Mr. Potter's way if he decides to act by himself."

And acting he would. Ollivander could not see the future – but this was written clear as day on the month that would follow…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	5. Chapter 4: Turning Dobby

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Turning Dobby**

sss

Harry and Reg instead returned to Surrey, to a playground not far from Harry's home. There Harry looked around, but the day was a rainy one and so no-one was on the streets.

"Well, that should do" he said, pulling out a third wand and erecting spell-walls to prevent from noticing and listening.

"What are you planning now, S… Harry?" Reg asked, looking interested at the building magic.

"Those are awesome! Some of them even _I _don't know – and I am hiding for fifteen years now!" he commented, looking at the wards, Harry was setting.

"I may teach you sometime" Harry answered distractedly. "But now I have to do something else. I need someone I can trust to help me with my task."

"Hey! I am helping you – do you want to say you can't trust me?!" Reg said hurt.

"I know I can trust you" Harry answered, shaking his head. "You have been helping me ever since I rescued you – so why shouldn't I trust you? No. I need someone who can enter everywhere and is no-where found. I need a perfect spy and a loyal friend. As helpful as you are – even you have trouble to enter somewhere unnoticed."

"Well, yes…" Reg said. "But your description – how about Kreature? He is the old house-elf of my mother."

"And he is bound to your brother" Harry answered. "No good."

"Uh… yeah… but…"

"Don't worry. I know whom I want" Harry said and then called "_Dobby_!"

The next moment there was a crack and the crazy little house-elf appeared.

"Harry Potter sir is calling?" He said, looking up at Harry.

"Uh… yes, Dobby" Harry answered, suddenly not all too sure what to say. "Uh… are you still a free elf, Dobby?" he finally asked.

"Of course, Harry Potter sir!" Dobby answered. "Dobby likes being a free elf over being Master Malfoy's elf, yes Dobby does."

"So there is no way that you will return in the service of a magical being to replenish your magic?" Harry asked curiously. "Do you want to die?"

Dobby blinked.

"Harry Potter sir knows how house-elf-magic is working?" he asked astonished.

"Uh… yes I do."

"So Harry Potter sir called to bond?" Dobby clarified with a nearly mad gleam in his eyes.

"Uh… yes" Harry answered. "And I wanted to ask you to also ask Winky if she would like to join. I need some loyal house-elves to help with my quest."

"Harry Potter sir has need for Dobby and Winky?" Dobby asked again, then he suddenly grinned. "I's be right back. I's be fetching Winky."

And with that and a loud pop he popped away again.

"So that's your master-scheme" Reg said grinning. "Mad house-elves."

"I need someone who can contact me everywhere and without being noticed. Of course I had to ask house-elves. And about the 'mad' thing – you need to be at least a little mad to follow my scheme, don't you agree, Reg?" Harry answered while an evil grin flickered over his face.

"Hey!" the other one exclaimed, but Harry just continued to speak.

"I might have been able to work alone until now – but now I am returning to Hogwarts and the hot phase of my plan is starting. I need someone who can get my correspondence to me or bring me somewhere I am unable to go by myself."

"So you are hiring two house-elves." Reg stated. "Why two?"

"Because they are free" Harry answered shrugging. "And I might need them both."

"I know you better than that, Harry" Reg said. "So – why two?"

"To spy on my favorite target, of course" Harry answered. "And all the others involved with him. Maybe we will find some other allies on the way."

Reg sighted while shaking his head.

"Don't you know enough already?"

"It's better to be prepared" Harry answered. "I might know thousands of things about my enemies – but it's really better to still spy on them. They might change their way without you knowing when you don't."

"What are you, Harry?! A super-spy?!"

Harry grinned.

"Nothing like that" he answered. "But I have fought enough in my life to know that you need as much information as you can get – and sometimes such information will provide you even more then knowledge. There might even be some allies you can find while spying on your enemies."

"You are mad, Harry, definitely absolutely mad." Reg commended, shaking his head.

"Why, thank you" Harry answered but was unable to say anything more because at that moment there was a loud crack and the elves returned.

"I's been cleaning, Dobby!" Winky cried, trying to free her arm from the other elf. "Why's you bringing me away?!"

Harry looked at the female elf. She looked dreadful. She was wearing a dirty, yellow dress and had big bangs under her blood-shot eyes. In her hand was a dirty rag – what she had maybe used for cleaning just a second before.

"I's been cleaning! I's been cleaning!" she cried, sounding desperate and angry.

"And I'm sure you have done well" Harry answered to her desperate cries. Winky stop abruptly with repeating her phrase and looked at him.

"No" she told him, big tears quelling out of her eyes. " Winky's a bad elf. Not cleaning good enough."

"Good enough for me" Harry answered, extending his hand to her. "I want you in my family."

Winky stared at his hand, then at him, unable to understand at first. Then comprehension filled her eyes and they went huge.

"You's cannot want me, kind sir" she told him. "I's been a bad elf."

"I don't believe that" Harry answered, still holding out his hand to her "and I still want you."

Again Winky stared at his hand and then at his face. And suddenly her own face lit up, the despair vanishing.

"You's want Winky, kind sir?" she asked. "You's want Winky as your house-elf?!"

"I do" Harry answered, still extending his hand. And finally, with a face as bright as the sun she took his hand.

"_Be part of my family, be part of my home. Service for magic, loyalty for loyalty, friendship for friendship, advice for life. So mot it be." _Harry hissed softly.

Winky's eyes went huge.

Harry knew she had not understood his words – they were Parseltongue after all – but she knew exactly what he wanted from her.

And then she smiled.

"So be it" she answered and a golden mist came from her body and entered Harry's. The next moment, she glowed in the death-green light that were his eye color, then the light vanished and a very happy and healthy elf stood there instead of the desperate being before.

"Now I!" Dobby said grinning madly. Harry let go of beaming Winky's hand and extended it to Dobby. He repeated his sentence and after Dobby had agreed he also glowed in a green light before standing there like before, grinning madly.

"What's master like us to wear?" Winky asked him, still beaming.

"I don't care" Harry answered. "But I don't like rags or towels. And to tell the truth, it would be best if you would continue to wear what you are wearing."

Winky blinked at that and Harry could see that she was unsure what to think about that.

"I will need you as spies and correspondence in Hogwarts without the Headmaster or any other knowing about it" he explained. "When the need to hide will end, we will choose what you will wear for the rest of the service-time."

"Master Harry not likes Dumbly-dory to know we's being his house-elves?" Winky asked.

"Yes" Harry answered. "Because I need you at Hogwarts – and in Hogwarts there are just two kinds of elves: free ones and these who bonded to Hogwarts."

Now Winky grinned.

"And we!" she said. "I's will do what master says. What shall Winky do for you?"

"One of you will bring my correspondence to Gringotts or an owl-post-office and back from there. This one also has to do all the tasks I also may need, like shopping or delivering something. The other one I need as a spy. I need to know all about the Headmaster and his findings and planning. I will give this one a recorder to install in meetings. This one also will have to get the information about when and where the meeting is held and so on… It would be best if you would change positions in an unpredictable pattern, so that the Headmaster doesn't find out. When you don't have to do anything, return to Hogwarts and go on as if nothing happened."

Dobby and Winky looked at each other, then nodded severely.

"Yes, Master Harry" they chorused.

"Dobby will begin in this instant" Dobby declared, then he popped away.

"Winky will wait until I's needed" Winky said and then declared steadily. "I's will return cleaning!" And with that she also popped away.

"Super!" Reg declared as soon as the elves had vanished. "Now you don't have one insane house-elf, instead you have two! How, by Merlin, where you able to find the only two insane house-elves in the whole British wizarding world?!"

"I have been looking long and hart" Harry answered smugly. "If you would have looked, you would have found them also."

Reg shuddered.

"Luckily I haven't" he said, while following Harry, who was returning to Privet Drive. "Luckily I haven't…"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Later that evening, Harry desided to look through the file he had gotten in Gringotts. The file were informations about the accounts of one 'Harry Potter' – a boy, who did not exist anymore.

Nevertheless the file was important.

Harry opened it and sorted through it. He raised an eyebrow at some things he found in there. The last time he had gotten a statement about the Trust Vault the original Harry had used, had been in 1981 after the death of Lily and James Potter.

Now the Trust looked a lot different. It seemed as if someone had thought about using some things in there for their own benefit. There was still enough gold left for Harry to be able to go to school but the gold that had been in there in case Harry was placed with someone else to raise had vanished. Of course it should have vanished as it had been in there for childcare.

The problem was, that the Dursleys had gotten just enough to pay for the original Harry's school supplies. The rest of the money had been used for the aftermath of the war.

"As if Lily and James had not done enough" Harry murmured while having dark thoughts. "No wonder the Dursleys do not like me or 'Harry'." The original Harry had been straining their money since he arrived.

Of course, Vernon had gotten a better job some years later and they had started to over-do it with Dudley but Harry also remembered a time when Dudley and the original Harry had been brought to Mrs. Figg so that Petunia could go to work for some hours. It had been Vernon's promotion when the original Harry had turned four that finally had started the life the Dursleys were living now. And it had been little Harry who had brought the trouble in their house…

"No wonder they resented everything magical after that even more" Harry thought. "That there was not enough left of 'my' parents' inheritance to even feat 'me' would support their beliefs that 'my' parents were jobless thugs."

Harry was relieved that Dumbledore had not known that the Potter family had more money then what was left in the Trust Vault. When the original Harry had been declared Dumbledore's ward the Potter Vaults had long been out of his reach. Harry was sure that Dumbledore would have used even more money for the aftermath of the war if he had had access to the Potter Vault.

"Well, I knew long before that Dumbledore was not to be trusted" Harry thought and turned to the rest of the folder.

In there was also a copy of the will of Lily and James Potter – and it clearly stated who should take little Harry in if they died. Of course, Sirius as Harry's godfather had the first place, but the rest had not even been considered by Dumbledore.

"Alice and Frank Longbottom" Harry read. He knew that they had gone insane some month later – but until then they would have been suitable guardians for little Harry. And after that he still would have been in the care of Augusta Longbottom – Neville's grandmother.

"Amelia Bones", Harry read next. "Well, she still is. There was nothing to stop Harry from being raised there." The last name on the list made Harry snort.

"Alastor Moody – that would have been a life" Harry was sure that Moody would have trained the original Harry to be an Auror as soon as he would have been able to walk steadily. "Well, everything would have been better then the Dursleys…"

But Dumbledore had not considered the wishes of Lily and James Potter. He had needed Harry where Harry had been raised – far away from everything magical.

"Well – it's time to lay out the facts" Harry murmured. Then he tucked out another parchment and wrote down a short sentence.

"_My dear old friend,_

_The thief from three years ago has also stolen what you have lost fourteen years ago._

_Your old friend_

_Me."_

He smiled and sealed the letter. Then he calmly called for Winky and she took the letter away. Harry instead returned to his reading. He still had some things to do until he finally could leave Privet Drive for good…

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_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	6. Chapter 5: ca 650 BC Awakening

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 700 and 600 BC**

**Awakening**

sss

It had been a normal day today. Maybe Myrddin was a little bit tired, maybe he had wandered a little too far. But all in all it had been a normal day for a young man in his early thirties. He had had his breakfast and now had stopped for lunch in the middle of a forest.

He had just finished eating and packing away the rest of his food, when destiny decided that his life was not exciting enough.

The first thing, Myrddin saw, was a flash of bright light. Then a body appeared, plastered on the earth of the forest. Myrddin starred at his unexpected guest. The foreigner was a boy. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old.

He had short, oddly cut raven hair. The clothes he was wearing were also odd. Myrddin had never seen anything like that. The tunic was too short, the pants… well… odd. The material was foreign and they seemed to hold up without a girdle.

They seemed to be cut for an entirely different person, because they were hanging on the boy. The tunic had a bright coloring, Myrddin had never seen before. They were no hide or fur, like Myrddin knew clothes to be.

Myrddin would have thought that they were high ranking clothes, would they just have fit the boy and would they have had fewer holes. Like they were now, they seemed more rags than clothes. And rags for a boy like that…

"A young druid" Myrddin had figured "not old enough to have fully matured magic. So most likely accidental magic brought him here."

So the clothes the lad was wearing simply weren't appropriate for his assumed rank.

Myrddin hesitated for another moment or such, but than he took his staff and went to the unconsciousness boy. He sat down beside him and slowly reached out to him. The lad had blood in his face but the cut at his eyebrow was easily mended and his slight concussion was nothing Myrddin couldn't tread as well.

And then the lad groaned and sat up. Light green eyes fixed on Myrddin. The lad blinked, surprise in his eyes.

"A burst of accidental magic and suddenly he is somewhere he has never been before" Myrddin thought while meeting the starring eyes of the lad. "He seems not old enough to be without a parent. His magic is simply not mature enough to be fully controlled by himself."

Myrddin knew the times when magic matured. The first time was when the child was ten or eleven, the next when it was seventeen or eighteen and the last one with twenty two or twenty three. The lad in front of him seemed too young to have experienced more than the first time, so he had to have still more often bouts of accidental magic.

And one of these bouts seemed to have brought him to Myrddin. Myrddin wondered why the magic of the boy had brought him here. Normally accidental magic tried to help the druid – but how could bringing him here help the lad?

"Where do you come from, lad?" Myrddin asked. The lad starred at him as if he was a foreign creature. Did he not speak Cymráeg?

"Where do you come from, lad?" Myrddin asked again, this time in Brezhoneg. Again no reaction. So Myrddin tried the next language: Kernewek, then Gaelg, Gaelige and Gàighlig. Nothing. Another try with Latin, Norse, Greek and Egyptian. Still nothing – and there was no other language Myrddin could think of.

The lad had not shown interest in any of the languages. So were did he come from, that he didn't know any of these languages?

Then the lad opened his mouth and babbled something. The language he used had a slightly familiar sound, a little like Norse, but as much as Myrddin tried, something prevented him from actually understanding the lad.

A Norse dialect?

"Say it again" he said in Norse but of course, the boy didn't do like he was asked. He had not understood. Myrddin sighted.

No dialect? Another country with a language in little relation with Norse? A country behind the final boundary of the Norse lands? How far away would that be?

"He must be from the other side of the world" he mused. "Powerful accidental magic indeed. His parents must be proud of him…" Of course they just could be proud of the lad when Myrddin would find some way to send him back to them. When he did not, they would be nothing but worried.

But first he had to find a way to communicate. He starred at the boy, pondering. Finally he found a way to start the understanding between them.

"Myrddin" Myrddin finally said, pointing at his chest. "Myrddin Emrys."

The lad starred, his face showed his bewilderment. Then his eyes cleared and he seemed to understand Myrddin's actions.

"Harry" He said. "Harry Potter."

Myrddin wrinkled his nose in dislike. Harry. A name that sounded like something a baby would be cooing. Something a parent might give a child to show they cherished it – but nothing a lad like the boy in front of him should use as a name.

Maybe it was a normal first name in the home country of the lad – but here he was in Britannia and here the name didn't fit for a young boy like him.

It was nothing Myrddin would like to be seen calling the lad in public. He would be looked at funny when he would coo at a lad of maybe fifteen.

Myrddin sighted. "_I will have to search for another name to call the lad_", he murmured under his breath, using his mother tongue.

"_Why? What's wrong with my name_?"

Myrddin's head snapped up when the lad answered to his murmurs. One moment Myrddin was absolutely speechless, then he suddenly understood, why the lad this time had answered.

"_A Parselan_", Myrddin shook his head, "_I never had the idea to try Parseltongue_."

"_Parselan_?" The lad asked "_what's a Parselan?"_

"_It's a person who can speak to snakes."_ Myrddin answered the question. It was odd to speak to another person in the language of the snakes, but it seemed as if Parseltongue was the only language they had in common.

"_A Parselan is a parselmouth_?" The lad confirmed.

"_Parselmouth_?" this was a word Myrddin never had heard before. It seemed that Parseltongue also had some different words – like a different dialect. But it was better than not understanding. "When_ a Parselmouth is someone who speaks to snakes, then it seems to be the same_." Myrddin finally answered. The boy starred at him, than he nodded.

"_Well, yes, then I'm a… Parselan."_ He finally said, then he stopped and starred again at Myrddin. "_Are we talking in Parseltongue?"_

"_You can't tell?"_ The lad shook his head. "_I never could. It all sounds like English for me."_

"_English? Is that the language you are normally speaking?"_

The lad – Harry – nodded.

"_What's the name of the land you are from, lad?"_

"_Britain."_ The boy answered and Myrddin crooked an eyebrow. That word sounded somehow familiar. Britain… Britain… Britannia…!

"_Britain – you are talking about Britannia?"_

"_Britannia?"_ The lad stopped and seemed to think about that. _"Well… yes… but I have never heard someone calling Britain Britannia before…"_

"_You are not speaking one of the languages of Britannia",_ Myrddin clarified.

The lad blinked at that. "_But I am!"_ He insisted. _"I am speaking English – like everyone in Britain!"_

"_Lad… there is Cymr__áeg, Kernewek, Gaelg, Gaelige, Brezhoneg and Gàighlig__ – there is no 'English' to speak."_

"_C…Cymáeg?!"_ The lad starred unbelieving at Myrddin. _"Gaelige?! What are these bloody languages! I have never heard about them!"_

"_But when you are from Britannia, you must have heard at least one of them!"_

"_No! Never!"_

This answer was something to ponder about. Was Britain not Britannia? Had Myrddin been wrong? Or did he miss something?

Maybe the boy knew something else about his country – something Myrddin could use to identify the country the lad was from. He himself had been travelling the last fifteen years throughout the Roman Empire, Greece, Egypt and the Norse lands, where the Germanic tribes lived. He should be wise enough to find out where the boy was from.

"_Tell me: Have you ever heard about the Roman Empire?" _he finally asked. The Empire was well known, so he might be able to identify if the lad was at least somewhere near the Roman Empire.

"_Yes" _the lad answered bewildered.

"_That's good" _Myrddin sighted. "_So tell me: where is the Roman Empire from your home? Is it in the West? The Nord? The South? The East?"_

Now the lad looked as if he was utterly confused.

"_It is nowhere from my home." _He finally answered. "_The Romans do not exist anymore."_

"_They do not?" _Now Myrddin was addled. Had they left the home country of the lad… or was it something different?

The boy nodded.

"_Their Empire is gone since… I don't know… a few hundred years?"_

That did not sound as if the Romans had left. It sounded more like…

"_How many winters from here are you from?!" _Myrddin asked stunned, while in the same moment, the lad cried.

"_When by Merlin am I?!"_

So Myrddin had been correct. The lad was _not _from the same time. "Travelled in time…" Myrddin thought. "Travelled in time." It sounded unbelievable. He could not believe it.

"_What do you mean with _'when_ are you'?" _he asked, hoping that he was wrong and the lad had meant something different – not that there was a different meaning to that question…

"_I…_" Harry stopped and bit his lips. "_I seem to have traveled in time."_ He finally said. _"There is nothing that would make sense without a time-travel. I mean: Your clothes are funny, you are speaking a language I don't recognize but you insist that I am still home… so I have to have traveled in time…"_

This time Myrddin could not deny it. The lad had found the same explanation like Myrddin, so Myrddin _could_ not be wrong…

"_Traveled in time…"_ Now Myrddin was really impressed. He knew that there was some really strong accidental magic but he never had heard of something like that.

But the same time Myrddin understood the problems that came with this travel. The boy had no-one. No parents, no relatives, absolutely no-one…

But the lad was not mature enough to be on his own…

"_How far back in time you think you are?" _He finally asked. The question was important. When he was just a few years in the past, the boy would be able to somehow go home, when it was more… Myrddin would have to think about that…

"_I… I don't know" _Harry answered. _"But it has to be some time. A few hundred years at least."_

"_A few hundred years."_ Well, that would explain the foreign and strange clothes the boy was wearing as well as the language he was speaking.

"_So English is the language of another conqueror of Britannia?"_ He asked to clarify the language problem. He knew, the boy would likely not know, but it couldn't hear a second theory.

"_Er…" _the boy seemed to be a little bit unsure at that. _"I think 'English' is… well will be the name of one of your languages… or something like that… I don't know. But even if it is one of your languages…it… well… the words will a little bit… change over time… I think…"_

"_Oh"_ somehow that seemed to make some sense to Myrddin. He knew that dialects changed the language slightly so time would also do that...

"_Well, your theory is as good as mine." _He finally said. "_And even if it is the language of a conqueror or something similar, it would not change the language problem you have, while you are here."_

Then he stopped again, pondering.

When the lad was not from this time, then there was no-one to send him back to. Of course, Myrddin maybe would be able to find family or someone to take the boy in, but…

"_So you are from a few hundred years in the future_?" Myrddin asked again, to clarify the theory. When it were just a few hundred years maybe the lad would see his family again – even if he would be old at that time. The boy hesitated.

"_Maybe"_ He finally said. "_I think so…"_

Of course, the lad wouldn't be sure. Young ones were not interested in stars and cards. Maybe the lad knew about the stars, maybe he had learned his sky cards and simply didn't know how to read them. Maybe the lad didn't know, that reading the sky could tell him the years…

"_Well, we will find out."_ Myrddin promised, while he started to plan the things the lad needed to learn, while he was here. Myrddin would die first, before he would let the lad stop learning his magic. An untrained druid was nothing the world needed – especially an untrained very powerful druid like the boy in front of him.

"_Do you have a staff, lad?" _Myrddin finally asked. He had not seen it, but maybe the lad had shrunk it or lay on it.

"_A staff?"_ the lad asked.

"_The thing you use to help you manipulate your magic" _Myrddin explained. Did they have no staffs in the future?!

The lad blinked in surprise, but then he searched his clothes and the floor around him.

"_Where is my wand? Do… do you have it?!" _He finally asked, still searching.

Now it was Myrddins turn to be confused. "_Your wand? What is a wand? Something like a staff?"_

The lad looked at the staff Myrddin was carrying, hesitated and then nodded.

"_Something like that" _he answered. _"But a wand is smaller. We don't have this long… staffs… anymore…"_

Well, that made sense. Myrddin himself was shrinking his staff often. When they had found a way in the future to have it constantly short while still being able to contain all the ingredients then it was not surprising that they had smaller staffs.

"_Maybe you have lost it before coming here" _Myrddin mused. The lad fixed his glance at something just he could see, while he was thinking back.

"_Maybe" _he finally said. _"I… was in trouble, back home. There were Dementors… I… I could not focus and the Dementor started to suck out my soul… I… I might have let it go…"_

Myrddin knew nothing about a Dementor. He had heard about the creatures, knew that they were one of the Firbolg – the immortal magical creatures – but he had never met them. They lived in countries far behind Egypt. Had they come here to Britain in the future?

"You can't change it anyway, so stop pondering" Myrddin reprimanded himself, aloud he said.

"_Well, so you need a staff and a new master to teach you until you find a way back to where you come from. I am willing to be your knew master and help you to look for a way to return hom_e_, but first I will take you to Loandom to get you a staff. You need a staff to learn to focus your magic… how many winters have you seen, lad?"_

"_Er… fifteen since a few days"_

So Myrddin had been right with his judging. The lad had just matured one time in his life. So now he had just to find out how much the lad knew about using his magic. So the first important question was…

"_Did your parents teach you to control your magic?"_ Myrddin knew that this was the most important question. He of course needed to know where to start to teach the lad, but to have focus on his magic was what the lad needed the most. Without focus the lad would have a hard time to learn. And learn he must. While the lad was with him, Myrddin had to train him. It would really do no good, when the lad did not train his magic – accidental magic like what brought the lad was nothing they needed.

"_Er… no."_ This was an answer Myrddin had not expected.

"_No? Your parents didn't teach you?!"_

"_I… my parents are dead, sir."_

"_But your relatives trained you, didn't they?"_ Myrddin asked. It was the duty of the elders to train the young ones…

"_Er… my aunt doesn't have any magic."_ The boy answered. _"But I went to Hogwarts."_

"_Hogwarts?"_ Myrddin asked. "_Is that your master?"_

As soon as he asked the question he knew he had asked the wrong thing because suddenly the boy's face fell and pure horror crossed his features.

"_Lad? Are you alright?"_ Myrddin asked worried.

"_I… no! No! No! No! NO!"_ The lad suddenly cried. "_Please… please tell me you know Hogwarts!"_

Myrddin didn't know why the lad would be so anxious because Myrddin didn't know this 'Hogwarts' but he understood that suddenly the world the lad had pieced himself together had broken apart again.

Was Hogwarts a very old man? Had the lad thought that Hogwarts was old enough to still exist so far in the past?

"_I'm sorry, lad. I don't know someone called Hogwarts…"_ He finally said. The answer were tears, thousands of tears.

"_Shhh"_ Myrddin hesitated a moment. Normally you would not touch a foreign child. Just relatives were allowed to touch children but then he crossed the space between himself and the lad and hugged the boy. The boy needed someone and there was no relative to sooth him. Fingers dug into his tunic, and the lad clung to Myrddin as if his life depended on it.

Myrddin didn't know how long it finally took him to calm down the lad, but finally the fingers let him go again and he stopped hugging and soothing the lad.

"_You're alright again, lad?"_ He asked.

"_Y… yes. Sorry."_ The boy replied while letting him go.

"_So… care to explain what shook you so much?"_

"_I… well… Hogwarts is a… a place to learn"_ The boy finally replied. _"In my time it is a place to learn since a thousand years. When… when you don't know it…"_

And suddenly Myrddin understood. A place to learn, founded a thousand years in the past – and Myrddin did not know of it…

"_Then you are much farer in the past then you thought."_ Myrddin concluded and sighted. The lad had no way to return home in the moment and now he also would be unable to live long enough to see his friends and family again. Even if the lad was one of the few druids who lived more than a few hundred years – the oldest living one had still died with nearly seven hundred – not long enough for the boy to return home. "Even if his blood would be pure enough to let him live that long" Myrddin thought.

Not that he believed it. There were few today who had pure enough blood to live that long – in the future, there would be less…

"_Yes…"_ The boy replied in that moment while trying to stop his still flowing tears. _"And when I don't find a way back, I will never see my friends again – and they will never know what happened to me either."_

Myrddin understood the lad. The young boy in front of him had been ripped out of his time and out of his known place – and now heard that there was a possibility that he would never return home… Nothing Myrddin wished for anyone…

"_Lad"_ The boy met his eyes. It was the first time that Myrddin saw the color of the boy's eyes. He stopped midsentence. Green. The eyes of the boy were in a green Myrddin knew of. It was the eye color of a single family. Should he… no… Myrddin stopped his thoughts before he even had stared to think about them. The family was old and powerful but the current family members were non Myrddin would give a young lad to.

But still… Maybe the lad would live longer than he thought… The family was strong and pure – but they weren't from Britannia. Myrddin had been their guest in Persia, where they currently lived. But originally they were Egyptian or something like that. Old blood, that Myrddin knew, pure blood – still, after hundreds of generations…

So maybe there was a chance for the boy to live longer then the average druid. Not long enough, but maybe long enough to find a way home…

But that would be something for the future. Now, the boy needed a master – or a family to teach him. And as long as the current family members of his family were like they are, Myrddin would never give the boy back to them. Of course he would teach the boy their way – the boy needed to know it – but he would not bring the boy to Persia to meet them.

"_Lad"_ He started again, shaking his head to clear it from his thoughts. _"I will bring you to Loandom. There, you will get a staff. While we will travel there, I will teach you magic and languages you might need. I will be your master until you find a way home or until you are twenty-three and of age. Is that acceptable?"_

The boy hesitated and then nodded. Of course, he did not know that Myrddin knew his family – maybe the lad even did not now of his family himself. When his parents weren't there to teach any magic, they must have died, while the boy was a mere wee babe and so maybe family history and magic had been lost to him. Well, Myrddin would teach him what he knew – there was just one important question left…

"_So… then there is just one question left. Is your name really Harry?"_

The boy nodded. "Yes. _Harry."_ He said. "_Harry James Potter."_

Potter? Myrddin let this part of the name go. He knew there was no way that the boy's magical name was "Potter", but he would not tell now. There were more important things to know first. And one of the more important things was the true name of the boy… so he said:

"_Well, that sounds a little bit better. No son of mine would have the name Harryjames as first name – but you are no son of mine so Harryjames will do."_ Myrddin felt relieved that 'Harry' was just a shortened form of the lad's name. He could not see himself call a baby's name to a nearly grown up boy.

One moment the boy seemed to think about protesting, but then he just closed his mouth again.

"_So… let's pack and start our journey, Harryjames."_ Myrddin finally said and stood up. The boy followed his lead, helped him to pack his stuff together and was beside him when Myrddin started walking.

"_Have you eaten something this morning?"_ Myrddin asked while he searched his way through the forest.

"_No, sir"_ Harryjames replied.

Myrddin sighted when he heard the lads answer but searched his bundle for some dried fruits.

"_That's all I have now. Tonight there will be a little bit dried meat and maybe some mushrooms or roots when I find some. Do you know how to search for food?"_

"_No, sir. I… I was never…"_

"_Never away from your school or your aunt?"_

"_Er… yes…"_

"_Well, I will show you. I will teach you all you need to know…"_ And he would have his hands full with that…

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_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	7. Chapter 6: ca 650 BC Training

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 700 and 600 BC**

**Training**

sss

The next weeks were horrible for Harry.

Myrddin was a hard teacher. He did not like to repeat things. He was determined to teach Harry Cymráeg as thoroughly as possible before they reached Loandom. So he told Harry the words for everything he could think of. After the first week telling Harry words he started to solely speak in Cymráeg.

It was hard. The week that followed Harry nearly understood nothing of the things Myrddin also was teaching him. Mostly it was herbology and potion-theory. But Harry had to learn and soon he was able to understand Myrddin even he still struggled with answering in Cymráeg. It was his need of the language, Myrddin's dislike to repeat himself and the lack of a notebook that animated Harry to remember words and stuff soon just after hearing them one time.

When they finally reached Loandom Harry had a good enough grasp of Cymráeg to understand the most things Myrddin said and his potion and herbology knowledge had improved. He also had learned to hunt, to cook with an open fire and some other stuff needed in the wild.

"Today we will meet an old friend of mine" Myrddin said in Cymráeg. "He is a staff-maker. He will make you a new staff. This should take a few days. After that I will start to teach you fully. Until your staff is ready, I will start you on writing."

"Writing?" Harry carefully formulated. "Why do you… need me to… start… up writing?"

"On writing" Myrddin corrected absently.

"On writing" Harry repeated.

"So you do know how to write?" Myrddin finally asked.

"Yes… my… writing" Harry wasn't sure how to tell Myrddin that maybe their writing types were different, but Myrddin understood.

"I will teach you to write runes." He said. First Harry didn't understand, but when Myrddin repeated the sentence in Parseltongue he finally did.

"Runes" he repeated the word Myrddin had used, filling it in his vocabulary while thinking that he now would have to learn what he had chosen not to in third year. And there was no Hermione to help him with that. He sighted.

Well, there was nothing he could do to change that. He would have to learn what Myrddin wanted him to learn until he and Myrddin had found a way to bring him back to the future.

At least his feet weren't sore anymore and he had gotten used to walking all day.

"Here we are" Harry stopped when he heard Myrddin's voice.

"_Don't forget, lad: don't tell anyone that you are from the future. We will tell them you are from a different country, nothing more – do you understand?"_ this time Myrddin spoke Parsel tongue to make sure that no-one would understand his words.

"_Yes_" Harry answered in the same language. That was also something that he had gotten used to. He could chose now to speak Parsel tongue freely without trying to imagine a snake first.

"_Good" _Myrddin said and then he knocked on the door frame. The door of the small cottage itself was just closed with a simple fur. The village they were in was small – Harry roughly estimated twenty to thirty small, wooden cottages. Myrddin had called the village one of the bigger ones in Britain. Harry did not want to think how big a small one was.

"Come in" a voice said, also in Cymráeg.

"You seem to know who is standing in front of your door, my friend" Myrddin said and entered, holding the fur open for Harry.

"Of course I do. I heard news of your return here and so I was pretty sure to see you in the next weeks. You never fail to knock on my door frame." The wizard who answered was an old looking man with white, bushy hair and eyes so bright that they seemed to have no iris at all.

"Ollivanneder" Myrddin greeted smiling. "Let me introduce my apprentice Harryjames. Harryjames, this is Ollivanneder. He is the best staff-maker in Britannia and my friend."

"I greet you, elder" Harry answered. It was difficult to learn all the different greetings Myrddin told him, but when he glanced at Myrddin he saw him nodding. He seemed to have chosen the right one.

"I greet you also, young one" Ollivanneder answered. "You seem not to be from here."

"I am not" Harry answered. "But my master is teaching me Cymráeg so that I will be able to communicate."

"And he does it well" Ollivanneder said smiling and then turned back to Myrddin. "I understand you need a staff for the lad?"

"I do" Myrddin answered. "I have my suspicions of his ancestry but I am not sure so you will have to test him."

"The lad is a Firbolg-born, isn't he?" Ollivanneder asked and Harry opened his mouth to ask what a Firbolg-born was just to snap it shut the next moment. This was a talk between elders – a child was not allowed to butt in. Myrddin had taught him that and Harry dared not to break this rule. The world he was in was foreign to him so it was best to behave like a child should do here.

Ollivanneder instead seemed to have seen the question in Harry's eyes because he laughed at him. "A Firbolg-born is a person born from parents who were both magical creatures like dragons and unicorns." He explained.

Harry blinked, but dared not to say that he definitely wasn't a Firbolg-born.

"He might be" Myrddin answered. "But I suspect him to be an _Olde _one." And with a glance at Harry he said. "That is someone whose family is descended from a Firbolg-born and whose blood is still as pure as the blood of the Firbolg-born him- or herself."

"There are just a few _Olde _families in the world" Ollivanneder said.

"I know."

"So you have a reason to believe something like that."

"Yes, a good one" Myrddin answered but didn't elaborate. Ollivanneder seemed content with that so Harry had to conceal his curiosity.

"So… a staff for the lad." Ollivanneder said instead and looked Harry over. "Well, then come with me, young one. Let's see what we are dealing with."

And with that he left his cottage. Harry looked hesitating at Myrddin but when Myrddin nodded, he followed the other wizard. He felt relieved when Myrddin followed him.

They left the village and entered the forest. There they walked until they reached a hill. On top of the hill was standing a stone-circle with a stone-bed in the middle.

"This is a ritual-circle" Myrddin explained to him. "It is used for healing and other things to do with the human body. You will have to lay down on the stone-bed. Ollivanneder will do the rest."

"Don't fear, my boy" Ollivanneder butted in. "this is a simple ritual. I will need a drop of your blood and a strand of your hair. That is all. The only thing that could feel a little bit odd is when I touch your mind with mine. Don't use Occlumency, just let me do it. I will not read your thoughts."

Harry wanted to ask what Occlumency was but he just nodded and laid on the stone-bed. It felt odd to lie there and to wait that something would happen. When Ollivanneder peaked his finger with a dagger – a ritual dagger – and drew a drop blood, Harry felt nothing. Ollivanneder let the drop blood fall on the ground and suddenly the earth lit up and the stone-circle looked as if it was lit with a hundreds of lamps or with the sun itself. Then Ollivanneder cut a strand of Harry's hair and let it also fall to the ground. Again the stone-circle lit. This time it was too bright to see anything except of white. Then the light dimmed.

"Well, that was powerful" Harry heard Ollivanneder murmur. "You are definitely an _Olde _one – and a powerful, too."

Harry looked at Ollivanneder baffled. But before he could commend on the older wizards words, sparkling white runes appeared in the sky above him.

Ollivanneder gasped.

Silence, while new runes appeared, this time they were muddy brown. Ollivanneder gasped again.

"Well, that changes everything." He said and suddenly he sounded old and very serious. "That foul thing will have to leave first…"

"Foul thing?" Harry was not sure he heard right and this time he could not stop himself from speaking.

"Yes, foul thing" Ollivanneder said. And erased with a wish of his hand the writing in the air. "Come on, lad – we will have to talk to your master."

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Ollivanneder left the stone-circle, Harry followed him confused.

Ollivanneder's face was grave.

Myrddin who had been waiting right outside the stone-circle raised an eyebrow when he saw them return.

"What happened?" He asked.

"You were right" Ollivanneder said. "The boy is an _Olde _one. And I mean a really _Olde _one. He is the heir to an _Olde _family and a really ancient _Olde _family."

"So his parents were both…?"

"Yes." Ollivanneder answered. "But that's not all."

"What else?"

"Someone seemed to have used the boy in forbidden rituals – and I mean ritual_s_" Ollivanneder said. "The first one hefted a foul thing on the boys soul, keeping if from fully forming and the second on was a tried line-theft. Whoever did that has to die, Myrddin. A creature like that has no right to live! Line-theft by a normal wizard is grave – by an _Olde _one it is beyond… beyond…"

"I understand, my friend" Myrddin interrupted. "Just tell me how to remedy it, and I will."

"The line-theft can just cured with killing this foul creature" Ollivanneder said. "But it has no effect on the lads magic itself. It is just something that should be atoned for."

"It will." Myrddin answered. "I will teach him so that he can judge the thief."

Ollivanneder nodded.

"I thought as much" he said. "The foul thing that it hefted at his soul will have to be removed. It seems like another soul – or a part of a soul. But it is twisted and evil. The problem is the hole it will leave behind. The boys soul must have lived nearly his whole life with this foul thing attached to it – just rescued by a tiny bit of powerful, ancient magic, which stands like a shield between this foul soul-part and the boys own soul. But still, the boy's soul could not build itself fully because of this foul thing."

Myrddin stayed silence, thinking. Harry looked at Myrddin, then at Ollivanneder and then back to Myrddin. He could not understand how no-one in the future had found out about the soul-piece that was attached to his soul.

Why hadn't Dumbledore found it? Or Madam Pomfrey? Or someone else? Had never someone thought about looking him over after the night his parents died – because Harry was sure it was that time Voldemort – of course it must have been Voldemort – had left some part of his soul in Harry.

"Harryjames?" Harry looked up when Myrddin addressed him. "Do you have an idea how and when this soul-piece could have entered you?"

"They tell me…" Harry started.

"Told me" Myrddin corrected.

"Yes, they told me, when I… when I toddler… my parents… die… to… rescue me." Harry finally settled for, this time Myrddin said nothing. "there was a… evil druid… my mother stopped him from… from…" Harry made a helpless gesture, as if someone was stabbing him. He dared not to use Parsel tongue in front of Ollivanneder.

"To kill you" Myrddin said calmly. "She used her own death to protect you. Your father most likely did the same. So the dark druid was unable to kill you in the end and the only thing he could do was to infect you with his soul – which was also mostly prevented from your parents' protection. I am impressed. Your parents must have been some powerful druids to stop him like that."

"So it is because of my parents… I am not… infec… infec…"

"Infected" Myrddin said and nodded. "It was very impressive magic. You should honour them for doing that for you. They must have loved you more than anything in the world."

A single tear escaped Harry's eyes when he heard that. He had often wondered about his parents. Hearing that the magic they used to protect him was powerful enough to stop Voldemort even now was… indescribable.

"I… no one ever tell… told me much… about them" Harry said. "No one I ask know … how… they die."

Myrddin didn't answer but a gentle hand found its way on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it.

"Be proud of them, Harryjames." He said. "we will fulfil their work and rescue you from this foul thing in you."

"What are you planning, Myrddin?" Ollivanneder asked.

Myrddin smiled.

"The boy has the soul of a toddler, when we erase the foul thing in him – why not doing what everyone does when wanting a child?"

Harry blinked confused at these words, but Ollivanneder also started to smile.

"As a Firbolg-born yourself you can do it" Ollivanneder said. "I would be unable, but a Firbolg-born has to give up a part of his soul to have a child. So you are willing to be his father in all – blood and soul?"

"My father?!" Harry asked surprised, forgetting that it was a talk between elders again. But Myrddin did not reprimand him, instead he ruffled his hair.

"A Firbolg-born is the son of two magical creatures who themselves have hard souls." He explained.

"Hard souls?"

"Every magical creature has a hard soul. The longer they live, the harder is their soul. A human has a soft soul. Because of that they are dying easily and don't live long. A druid is a cross between a Firbolg and a human. They have a hard part – which the Firbolg has to give willingly to even have a child – and a soft part, which is inherited by the human without his knowledge.

"Firbolg – especially the immortal ones – can change once in their life-time in a human-like creature and have a child with a human or another human-like creature. Normally they have children with a human – these are called druids – but sometimes, and this is very unlikely but has happened, they meet another human-like creature and have a child with said creature – these are called Firbolg-born.

"The Firbolg-born have one part of the hard soul of one parent and another part of the hard soul of the other parent. So they also have a hard soul and live even longer then normal druids. And then there are the _Olde _ones. These are the descendents of the Firbolg-born who still have a fully hard soul. These families are also nearly non-existent. I myself do know of two. One is here in Britain and one in Persia. Each family has a physical or a psychical characteristic. I am pretty sure yours are your eyes."

"My eyes?" Harry interrupted. "But… my mother… her eyes." He stuttered.

"I thought as much when Ollivanneder called her family an ancient _Olde _one." Myrddin answered.

Harry blinked. He knew his mother was Muggle-born so how…?

"My mother's parents… no magic" he finally said to clarify his point. "Parents' parents no magic… parents' parents' parents no magic…"

"Well, that would not surprise me" Myrddin said. "The magic of your mother's family is coupled with the green eyes – when there were no green eyes, there is no magic. I don't think even your mother's family knows why it is coupled with the eye-colour."

"Oh" Harry said while thinking of his aunt's and cousin's blue eyes. When his mother had been the only one with green eyes but the magic in her family was coupled with it… no wonder there weren't more magical family members – and no wonder Harry had inherited her eye-colour…

"So… I am _Olde _one?" he said.

"Yes." Myrddin answered.

"When children… I give up… soul-part."

"Yes" Myrddin answered. "Like I do. I am the son of a basilisk and a phoenix."

Now Harry stared openly at him, absolutely flabbergasted.

"It is truly like that" Myrddin chuckled. "That's why I am called a Firbolg-born. And that's why I can help you."

"How?" Harry asked while his thoughts returned to the soul-piece stuck in his head.

"We will destroy the foul soul-piece" Myrddin answered. "But we need something to replace it. So I will give you a part of my soul and my blood. Like that your soul is whole and healthy and well – I will have a son."

"But… then your soul… not whole."

Myrddin chuckled again when he heard Harry's words.

"No, that's fine" he answered. "It is different from your missing part. I will still have a whole soul. Maybe I should better call it a copying of my soul. I copy it and give it to you. It weakens me for a few months but after that I am fine – and I still have a whole soul. It's just that normally people call it 'giving' not 'copying'. Don't worry about me."

"What about… my parents?" Harry asked, fearing he would lose them when he accepted.

"They will still be your parents" Myrddin answered... "You will just have two birth-fathers instead of one, because this ritual will not count as adopting, it will count as a second birth with me as your father."

"Oh…" Harry said. "So then I… call you father?"

"You may." Myrddin answered shrugging. "I would like to be called 'father' by my son, but I won't force you."

Harry stared at the man in front of him and suddenly a single thought shot through his mind. "You could have what you always wanted. You could have a family…"

"But… when I go… away" Harry said aloud.

"It will not change anything. I will not hold you back when you find a way home" Myrddin answered. "But even if you return home – you will always be my son."

Harry smiled at hearing that. Better having a family for just a short time than never having one.

"I do it." He said. "How doing?"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Soon Harry realised this ritual was much more complicated then the last one. They returned to Ollivanneder's cottage and the next three weeks they used to prepare for the ritual. Harry was taught how to prepare it and also how to write and read runes. His Cymráeg also improved and Ollivanneder started him on Brezhoneg. Harry hated it. Now he had to change languages when he was talking to either Myrddin or Ollivanneder. But he could see that there was a difference in his ability to remember things. This time he seemed to grasp the new language faster than the last time.

And then the big day arrived, and they returned to the stone-circle in the forest. While Harry helped Myrddin drawing runes and circles in the earth, Ollivanneder soaked the stones and the stone-bed with different potions.

"So… Now I just need to know a few last things" Myrddin said. "I know you don't know your full name so we will have to do it without."

"I know my name!" Harry returned staring at Myrddin.

"Yes, the name you are called, but normally every parent and godfather does choose a name." Myrddin returned. "So Harryjames is likely just the name you mother has chosen."

"Why my mother?"

"Because she has birthed you. It is her right to chose how you are called" Myrddin answered and Harry gave up. He did not know how to tell his soon-to-be father that giving a name in his time was different then here.

"So, what do you also need to know?"

"The names of your parents and your godfather." Myrddin answered. "It is enough, when you know their first and last name. You don't have to tell me their second and third name."

Harry stared at Myrddin. He wasn't sure why Myrddin needed the names because Myrddin had kept quiet about that part of the ritual.

"My mother's name was Lily. Lily Potter, born Evans" he finally answered. "My father's James, James Potter. My godfather's name is Sirius Black."

Myrddin nodded and returned to his work without saying anything else. Harry finally did the same.

Finally they were ready.

Harry undressed himself and then laid down on the stone-bed while Myrddin cut his wrists. Taking the blood of his wrists Myrddin started writing runes on Harry's body – some on Harry's forehead, some on his chest, some on his arms and some on his feet. Then Myrddin healed his cuts and also carved some runes on his own forehead, wrists and ankles. Blood oozed from these wounds but Myrddin ignored it.

He then changed to another dagger and started to carve the runes he had written in his own blood on Harry's body in Harry's flesh. Finally he took some of the blood oozing from Harry's wounds and rewrote the runes on his own forehead.

Ollivanneder activated the circle. White light filled the hill.

And then both, he and Myrddin began to chant while Ollivanneder lit one potion soaked stone after the other with fire. The final one he lit was the stone-bed Harry was lying on.

Harry had thought that it would hurt, but when the flames reached him, they caressed him – and then them and all the other flames suddenly where sucked in him, while the chanting of Myrddin and Ollivanneder started to get louder and persistent.

And suddenly there was pain, unbelievable pain, starting from his scar and spreading through his whole body. Harry would have liked to scream or to curl himself into a small ball but he couldn't. The runes on his body and the circle-runes prevented both.

So he lay there, screaming silently with pain while he heard the chanting of Myrddin and Ollivanneder. And then, suddenly the pain from his body drew back to his scar – and a black mist oozed out of it, screaming with a high-pitched voice. It vanished as soon as the light of the stone-circle hit it.

And suddenly Harry felt empty. Empty and somehow… not fully there. Then he felt Myrddin's hands holding his head. Myrddin bowed down to his knees, invisible to Harry's vision. But Harry could feel Myrddin's lips, slightly kissing his forehead. And then he heard Myrddin speaking.

"You are my son."

The stone-circle lit this time in a blue light, blue flames dancing in the night sky.

"You are my flesh."

The runes Myrddin had written with his own blood on Harry and after that carved them in Harry's flesh started to burn. Blue fire lit them and spread beneath Harry's skin.

"You are my son."

The fire reached Harry's eyes and suddenly he couldn't see anything anymore. His eyes burned and hurt while the rest of his body also started to hurt.

"You are my soul."

Suddenly the empty feeling in Harry vanished and warmth spread through his entire body, succumbed his pain.

Myrddin swayed for a moment before he continued.

"You are my son." He said, his grip tightening.

"I give birth to you today."

The blue flames burned Harry's skin with cold fire. His eyes, teeth and ears began to hurt even more. Than his chest joint them, followed by the veins when Harry's blood decided to burn with blue fire. Finally his skin started to hurt again and his fingertips prickled.

"I name you today. You are my son, your name is Salvazsahar."

This time Ollivanneder joint in. One of his hands got hold of Harry's shoulder.

"I name you my godson. Your name is Serendu." He said.

"I name you your mother Lily's son" Myrddin said. "Your name is Harryjames."

"I name you your father James' and godfather Sirius' son" Ollivannder joint in. "May your name be what they decided for you."

"So be Emrys" Myrddin finished. "Because I named you my son. Be Potter, because your father James named you his son, be Evans because your mother Lily named you her son. Be Ollivanneder, because Ollivanneder named you his godson. Be Black, because your godfather Sirius named you his godson."

A dazzling bright light erupted form Harry's body – and then the pain stopped. His vision returned and he suddenly could see better then ever.

Myrddin let go of him and sighed. Ollivanneder also let go of his shoulder.

"You alright, Salvazsahar?" he asked Harry.

Harry sat up. The inscription on him was gone, his wounds healed and he felt better then ever, as if something in his chest finally had settled.

"Yes, I am" he answered. "I feel great."

Before he could utter another sentence he felt two arms enveloping him. "Thanks to whoever let you live through this!" He heard Myrddin's voice while he was pressed to a warm chest. "I nearly panicked when this thing oozed out of you! I feared I would lose my son before gaining him."

Harry blinked while letting Myrddin – his father – petting him.

"I… I'm fine, atr" Harry finally chocked out, still half buried in his father's tunic. "I am really fine." It felt strange to call Myrddin _atr_ – father – but the same time it felt right.

"So… can you explain why I suddenly have a different name?" he finally asked, looking from his father to his godfather.

"You have been born again" Myrddin answered. "While you still have your old heritage, you are also my son now. As your father and the only parent alive I have the right to choose your given name – and I told you I won't have a son called Harryjames. But I also did not want to change your name so Ollivanneder and I decided to include your old name in the ritual – to be sure it would stay – and just add our chosen names in front of your old one."

"Oh…" Harry hesitated. "So… I am Salvazsahar Serendu Harryjames what ever now?"

"Yes."

"You know, you will have to show me how to write it" Harry said.

His father grinned.

"I will" he said, still petting Harry's hair. "I will, my handsome son."

Harry blinked, then his eyes suddenly.

"Do I look different?" He asked, suddenly worried.

"Not much" his father answered. "Your hair and eye colour are still the same, but now you have more locks then untameable hair. And maybe your face is a little sharper then before. It is nothing anyone would notice."

"Except of my name-change." Harry said. "People are bound to notice something like that."

"Well – you will have to live with it. I did not like the name Harryjames."

"Believe me, I noticed, atr" Harry answered dryly but also smiling. He could not even be angry with his father. A name was nothing his heart clung to.

"Well, then I am Salvazsahar now – Salvazsahar Emrys."

It sounded good to say the name, knowing there was a man who had the same last name, a man who had chosen his given name – a man who was his father.

"So, and now we return to the originally purpose for the first ritual" Ollivanneder said and took out a staff.

"I took the measurements I had from you and your father and build this. It should be perfect for you."

Harry stared at the staff. It was slender, carved with runes and symbols, lines and circles and it was bigger than himself – but it was perfect. He reached out and took it.

In that moment his hands touched the staff, a shower of sparks erupted from its carvings, bathing Harry and his father in red, green, blue and white.

The warmth Harry could feel from it was even greater then the warmth he had felt from his wand.

Harry's eyes lit with green fire.

"It is perfect" He said, still staring at the staff in his hands. "Absolutely perfect."

"It is oak with dragon-blood, elfin-hair, unicorn-blood, Dementor-blood, Grim-hair, Phoenix-tears, Thunderbird-feather and Basilisk-venom."

Harry blinked.

"Why so much?" He asked astonished.

"To tune it exactly for you" Ollivanneder answered. "These are your most important ancestors."

"Are they?"

"Yes. Your mothers had two equally important lines in her blood – two ancient _Olde _ones. One of the lines had as ancestors a Dementor- Unicorn couple, the other one a High Elven- Elder Dragon one. Your father James was a descendant of a Grim- Thunderbird couple and well, you know that Myrddin is the son of a Basilisk- Phoenix couple. Having the same magic as your ancestors had in your staff eases its use."

"Oh…"

"And the more of your important ancestors you add, the better is your connection to your staff."

"I understand" Harry answered, still looking at his new staff.

"You can shrink it, you know" Ollivanneder said smiling. "To transport it easier. I have a wrist-holster for your shrunken staff with me."

Harry blinked.

"Can I also use it, when it is shrunken?" He asked.

"Of course" Ollivanneder laughed. "But I would not recommend it for rituals. When your staff is shrunken, its connection with you will be less efficient. It will do no good in complicated rituals."

Harry nodded.

"How do I shrink it?"

"Just want it. Sal" his father answered chuckling. "Just want it."

Harry starred at the staff. Then he willed it to shrink – and it did.

"Wow!" he breathed and his father and godfather chuckled again. "So… now we can finally really start with teaching." His father commented, and Harry groaned. He would have to remember more stuff without being able to write it down!

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	8. Chapter 7: ca 650 BC Starting to live

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Important:**__ I will start to differentiate between the original Harry and the present Harry in name because I would confuse myself if I would not start that now. As of now past/original Harry will be called 'Sal' or 'Salvazsahar' while present Harry still is 'Harry'._

_**For Interest:**__ Salvazsahar is pronounced something akin to 'Sal' like in Sally, 'va' like in Valerie, 'sa' like in son and 'har' like in Harry – just don't forget the 'h' or it really nearly sounds like the infamous fourth Founder xD_

_I developed the name from salvaz – salvator- saviour and sahar- awakening, Serendu, Harry's new middle name is welsh (bastard-welsh?) and comes from seren-star and du-black_

_Well, that's it. I just added it because a friend asked me to do it. So, on with the story…_

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Somewhere between 700 and 600 BC**

**Starting To Live**

sss

"What are you doing, Sal?"

Salvazsahar – formerly Harry – looked up from his work.

"I am working on my third circle of strengthening runes" he answered his father.

It had been one year since Salvazsahar had been reborn. Since then he had started to learn the way of the druids. His father had taught him potions, charms, transfiguration, herb-lore and ritual-theory. He had also taught him Arithmancy, Astrology and knife- fighting. Parsel-magic and language studies were mixed in all his classes.

One of the most important things Sal had learned was Occlumency and Legilimency.

His father had been very insistent in these two disciples because they were the only ones that shielded Sal from being exposed as a time-traveller by another more ruthless druid.

At first, learning under his father had been hard. After Sal had gained his staff he had thought, that his lessons would get more Hogwarts-like. He had been wrong. He did not learn spells like the spells in Hogwarts anymore. There still were spells, of course, but the most of them were long chantings and mostly used to aid in a ritual or with a potion.

Crying spells out and fire them at each other did simply not exist.

That didn't mean there was no battle-magic. Runes, written with your empty hand in mid-air or drawn in the ground with your staff, was Sal's new fighting-style.

There were also no wand-movements. He had not to remember how to swing his staff to get a result in his spellwork – a lot of spells he used in daily life were wandless anyway, which had been especially hart on Sal first – but he had no choice. His staff was unable to call out magic like his wand had. Sal had tried it. He had tried a simple _lumos-_spell with his staff but was unable to get a result. When he had asked his father, Myrddin had answered that this shortened form of magic – Myrddin had never heard of a possibility to just shout a word and swing your staff – was maybe something that needed a more focused staff as they were able to make now. So Sal had to learn the druid's way. He had to know how the runes looked he wanted to draw, how and where to place them in full-fledged rituals and how to use his staff not only in magic but also in fighting against mundane weapons.

Sal loved and hated it the same time.

After some month Sal also had started in blood rituals. These were rituals every druid had to do to strengthen their body and their magic and finally waking their blood. Without them, Sal would not be allowed to do more than ritual-theory.

The blood-rituals were there to protect Sal's mind and body when using his magic for other rituals. They were the foundation every druid had to have before being allowed to call himself a druid. Sal did not know what would happen if he had not done the blood rituals but had attempted a ritual nevertheless – and he didn't want to know.

He had learned the hard way, that Myrddin and Ollivanneder would not hold back any answers to his questions, even if they were just asked out of fun without expecting an answer – and some things you were better not knowing… like doing rituals without blood-magic, or the sex-lives of your parents and godparents…

"So you will finish with your body strengthening rituals in the next few moons?" Myrddin asked.

"I think so" Sal answered, still calculating the places where the individual runes had to sit on his back.

"How far are you with your memory-runes?" These were another layer of runes to improve his memory – not that Sal needed them. Since the rebirth he hadn't forgotten anything. Instead he had begun to remember. Daily the past days of his life had returned to him, filled with a clearness Sal had never had before.

First it had been forgotten days at the Dursleys' and Hogwarts and also things he had read or learned but had not remembered anymore but after a while he suddenly started to remember his parents and the one year he had with them. It was a gift to him, even if he had to remember the strained faces his parents had worn the last month before their deaths and also the day his parents had died with every cruel detail.

And he did not just start to remember, he also did not forget anymore. Whatever he was told, he remembered even weeks later. Every lesson he had been given on his way to his new home he had remembered and some details he had not grasped at that time he suddenly understood.

He had inherited his new father's ability to memorize everything and finally he understood why Myrddin had hated it to repeat everything over and over again. His father had simply not understood that Sal's memory wasn't as good as his own…

But even if he knew now how his father felt and was now able to remember with just hearing it once, he was not sure if he liked that.

It had not been just good memories that returned to him and suddenly some of the actions of some people who had been in the future around him, seemed different.

He now remembered clearly the guiding in the "right" direction he had gotten in first year. At that time, it had been veiled to him. Hagrid was a nice fellow, taking him away from his mundane relatives, showing him an absolutely new world. But now Sal asked himself how it had happened, that _Hagrid _had been the one to introduce him to the wizard world.

Of course, Hagrid was huge and intimidating – but Sal had been a target, a target that knew nothing about the mark that had marred his back, signing him up to be shot by a Death Eater.

So why had it been Hagrid?

Why not McGonagall, Professor Flitwick or even Snape?

And how come there was no pamphlet or something else that could tell him something about his new world?

Shouldn't he know some things like the customs, culture or history of the wizarding world before he entered Hogwarts?!

Sal banished the thoughts and turned back to his father's question about his memory-runes.

"I will start with the first layer tonight." Sal answered. "I have prepared the potions and the stone-circle isn't used by anyone else, so there should be no problem."

They were still living in Loandom, but in their own cottage. The city was a magical one – Sal had started to suspect, that it later would become Diagon Alley – and the villagers all knew Sal as Myrddin's son.

Sal hadn't been introduced to them until they had completed the rebirth so that the villagers never knew that Sal first wasn't born as Myrddin's son. And after that there had been no evidence that he ever wasn't. His accent in speaking Cymráeg had dwindled after the ritual and the other languages of the island had come to him naturally.

Now, a year later Sal was as fluent in Cymráeg and Brezhoneg as if he was brought up with them. He could speak the other island-languages enough to understand the most of them and was learning Egyptian. After that his father had told him they would start on Latin, Greek and Norse.

Sal did not really look forward to it, but he did not protest. His father had told him, that at some time Sal would likely leave Loandom to seek his way home – and who would know where he would have to go to find it…

"What about the magic strengthening ones?" His father asked in that moment and Sal returned his concentration on the runes in the sandy earth in front of him.

"I have done the first layer two month ago. My second one is ready – I have just to wait until the memory-layer will have settled." He answered dutifully. "And I have started on the blood-wakening."

"That's good." Sal looked up when he heard the colouring of his father's voice.

"Is something troubling you, atr?" he asked.

"Yes." His father answered and sat down next to him on the ground in their hut. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

"What is it?" Sal asked now stopping to calculate and laying down the stick he had been using to draw the runes.

"It is about you – about your body" Myrddin said. "I noticed that you did not age since you came here."

Sal blinked and Myrddin brushed one of Sal's strands of hair out of Sal's face. Salvazsahar's hair had grown the last year and was now falling to his shoulders.

"I… I did not age?" Sal repeated, not sure if he understood his father correctly.

"Yes, you did not" Myrddin answered the positive. "I was not sure first, but I watched you the whole last year and you did not age a single day since I found you."

"So… I will stay fifteen – forever?!" Sal asked, unsure how to feel about that.

"I am not sure" his father answered. "But I have made up a theory."

"A theory?"

"You are not from this time. Even if you have been reborn here – you still should not exist here because there are no circumstances that would have led to your existence." His father elaborated. "So your body might be in stasis until you return to your rightful time. That means you would be able to grow in mind, but not in body until then."

"But… what is with dying?" Sal asked.

"My theory suspects, that you won't be able to die until you are back in your own time. You are timeless until you reach the day you left your own time. After that you should age normally."

"So I will be fifteen for the next thousand or two thousand years?!" Sal asked horrified.

"Normally I would say yes" answered Myrddin. "But there is a chance, that when we wake your blood you will gain the control over your age. Like the phoenix who decide when they want to age and when they want to be reborn again, you might be able to change your age. But we will have to look into that, when you have finalized your blood-wakening. Until then I fear you will not age."

"And what will we tell the others until then?" Sal asked.

"I never told them how old you are. If you finalize your blood-wakening until the winter after next winter – and I am sure you will – we won't have to tell them anything." Myrddin answered. "Then you are simply younger then they may first have thought."

"Well… when you think that that's all right" Sal finally answered. Myrddin smiled at him and ruffled his hair before standing up.

"Complete your ritual tonight and work on your others" He said. "I am sure the rest will come in time."

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Myrddin had been right. Two years later the still fifteen years old Salvazsahar finally, after a long, tiring night, completed the blood-wakening runes on his body.

He had been sitting on the stone-bed in the middle of the stone-circle since midday the day before and now the night ended and the sun greeted him again.

His whole body ached and dried blood clung to his body like a second skin. His arms, torso, feet and face where carved with runes, one of the most complicated circles on the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Every carved rune was very small and very precisely cut. They were arranged in circles, waves and symmetrical pattern and did just habituate some parts of his body.

Sal knew the carving would heal and the runes sink under his skin, like all the other ones had done that he had placed the last two years on his body.

This was the final layer of the blood-wakening runes – the final layer for now. After that he would be able to call himself a druid – even if he would add different layers of runes over the years that would come. Blood-rune magic like that was the only protection when he worked with rituals. They strengthened his grip on his magic and body, strengthened his mind and memory and wakened the creature – Firbolg – blood in him so that it could aid him in his task.

These runes also lengthened his life because of the strengthening and the more thoroughly connection with his inherited blood and soul. It was normal to never stop with blood-rune magic. Every experience, every new knowledge would be put in runes on his body so that he had aid when he needed it while doing rituals. The more blood-runes the more control he had over the rituals – it was as simple as that.

Sal sighted, then he let go of his knife which he had directed only with his will and magic to carve the runes on his back.

The knife clattered on the stone-bed and Sal stood up and broke the circle he had drawn in the earth of the stone-circle. With that he destroyed the lingering shield-runes and suddenly pain shot through his body. But that was something Sal had expected. The circle might shield him from these emotions until he broke it, but after that he was on his own.

So Sal sat back on the stone-bed again and closed his eyes. He had had to first destroy the runic circle before activating his own runes. When he wouldn't the circle and his freshly carved body-runes would have easily been able to interact – and that could have been lethal for Sal.

But now, after destroying the rune circle, Sal could try out his carvings. When he had done them right, his pain would succumb but when he had done them wrong… well, then he would never have to worry about something else.

Sal searched for his magic, and then let it flow through his carvings.

Incredible pain flowed through his body. His eyes, ears and teeth started burning, then his chest and fingertips followed. After that his skin felt as if it was lit with fire.

One moment long Sal thought he had failed and was now paying the price, but then his pain succumbed to a throbbing and finally ended.

Sal blinked and opened his eyes again. He starred down to his fingertips, but they were not different then before. Then he felt his ears – and they were. It was not something most would notice but when Sal felt his ears he could feel that the former round tops were now slightly pointed – elf-like.

So Sal turned his attention to his teeth. They seemed to be a little bit sharper but except of that did not feel different.

"Well… I will find out" Sal thought and blinked. Just to see a shadow fleeing on both sides of his eyes. What…?

"You seemed to have inherited my eyes" Sal looked up and saw his father approaching. His vision zoomed in and suddenly he could see his father clearer than ever. A strange, red, orange and white mist seemed to round him.

"What…?"

"Basilisk-eyes" his father answered. "Yours are still green in its colouring – not that I expected something different – but they are now as deadly for another creature like the eyes of every other Basilisk."

"So I can kill with my eyes?!" Sal asked horrified.

"Kill with your eyes and heal with your tears, I bet" his father answered. "The same as I. Maybe you also have the Basilisk venom, we will see. First you should close your second eyelids before anyone else approaches."

"Second eyelids?" Sal asked.

"You should see their shadow when you blink."

"Oh!" Sal concentrated on the eyelids and closed them without effort. To his amazement he could still see clearly through them. The only different was that the red mist around his father was gone.

"What is this red mist I was seeing?" he asked his father.

"Body heat." Myrddin answered and cupped Sal's chin.

"You have gotten some nice ears." He commented. "Your elven- heritage, I am sure. Well, the rest will show itself in time."

"There will be more?"

"There is more, son. You just don't know it, yet." Myrddin answered. "But the most important one is now your ability to age. Try to concentrate on your body and will it to age."

Sal closed his eyes and concentrated. Then he tried to imagine himself older. First nothing happened, then his skin prickled and finally stopped.

Sal opened his eyes again.

"Did it work?" he asked.

Myrddin looked him over.

"It did" he answered and Sal sighted felt relieve creeping through his body. No-one would ever notice that he was not really aging anymore…

"Try to turn younger again" Myrddin said. "We will have to see if it works also like that."

Sal nodded and closed his eyes. Again his skin prickled and when he opened his eyes his father nodded.

"Good" he said and let go of Sal's chin. "So this problem is gone."

"Can you also do it?" Sal asked interested.

"I can" Myrddin answered. "But don't forget: Just because you look older doesn't mean your body really is. It is still held in stasis and even if it looks twenty it will still be fifteen, understood?"

"So changing my age will also not change the day I die?" Sal asked.

"No" Myrddin answered. "When your body is old, it is old – even if it looks as if it is still fourteen."

"I understand."

"And now, let's go home. Your godfather is waiting there to congratulate you and we won't make him wait, will we?"

"No" Sal answered, standing up and picking up his clothes. On the way home they stopped at the river so that Sal was able to wash himself.

After that they returned home where Ollivanneder was waiting.

The life went on and finally, ten years later Sal and his father left Loandom again to travel. Over a hundred years they travelled together. They went to Egypt, Rome and the North to look for a way home for Sal.

They did not find anything.

No-one had even heard about time-travel and so there was not even the slightest evidence about a way back to the future. When Myrddin finally decided he had travelled enough and returned to Britain, Sal turned East and went to China, Japan and India.

He would not return home for the next centuries and so Myrddin would first see his son again in 370 BC when Salvazsahar finally decided to return home to his father to catch some breath.

At that time Sal would have learned foreign languages and their writing, foreign customs and magic no-one ever heard about in Britain. He would have learned the material arts to their fullest and also would have learned about the connection between body, mind and magic. His knowledge would be tenfold – but nothing he learned would give him even a clue how to return to his own time.

There simply was no-one who ever travelled in time.

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_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	9. Chapter 8: Grimauld Place No 12

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

_**Oliver Twist:**__ I decided to update chapter 3 to explain about the name 'Oliver Twist'. I also decided to add my explaining how it came to be here so that no questions will be asked about it anymore:_

_Last year I read the book 'Oliver Twist' and I liked the name. I thought the figure of Oliver Twist was fitting for Harry Potter as a synonym when I started to think about a Slytherin!Harry story and a different way for him to go against the Ministry – I just had no idea how he would do it. _

_Then I read __**Celestial Requiem**__ by __**Raven Dagonclaw **__and decided to use the Daily Prophet for his protest. I researched the Daily Prophet in the books and found it too bias to even decide to print anything 'Oliver Twist' would print. So I decided that Harry should challenge the Daily Prophet along the Ministry and that he should use the Quibbler to do so. _

_A friend then told me about__** GenkaiFan's Poison Pen**__ and that she/he was doing the same as I had planned. So I read Poison Pen and decided to ask for permission to do the same as it really was quiet similar. I got the permission to use the same idea._

_I am sorry I forgot to add this when I first posted 'A Twisted Message'. I decided to update it, to correct the mistake and to bow to GenkaiFan whose story is all I hope mine will be some day._

_**And now on with the story…**_

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**Grimauld Place No 12**

sss

Harry had been right. As soon as the Dursley's had left the house at the fourth night he was there, he could hear other voices in the kitchen downstairs. His magic told him the rest. His senses showed him, that Harry's old Defence professor was one of the new inhabitants of the kitchen. He grinned and stood up. With a simple swish of his hand the things the previous Harry had spread on the floor found its way back in his trunk.

Then he left his room, Harry's wand out, walking as if he was afraid.

"_Lower your wand, boy, before you take someone's eye out" said a low, growling voice. _Harry did not lower his wand, even if he knew this voice. Instead he played along with the afraid-fifteen-year-old-role he planed.

"_Professor Moody?" _he said, sounding uncertain.

"_I don't know so much about 'Professor", growled the voice, "never got round to much teaching, did I? Get down here, we want to see you properly."_

Harry knew Moody would see through the glamour he was using for his hair, but he was now wearing Dudley's cast-off so there was nothing else that was strange with his appearance – and his hair he could easily explain.

As Harry predicted, Moody raised an eyebrow when he saw Harry's hair. But he said nothing, when Remus Lupin began to speak.

"_It's all right, Harry. We've come to take you away." _It was really strange to be called "Harry". But he said nothing, except:

"_P-Professor Lupin? Is that you?" _

"_Why are we all standing in the dark?" said a third voice, a woman's. "_Lumos."

And suddenly Harry could see the people in front of him, and not just sense them. He knew the most of them, even if he shouldn't. He had been watching Grimauld Place often enough to know them by now. There were Kingsley Shacklebold, an Auror, Nymphadora Tonks, another Auror, Elphias Doge, Dedalus Diggle, Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore and Hestia Jones. No-one new. He heard them murmuring about his appearance.

"_He looks exactly like James" _was the second part of Kingsley's speech to Remus. "_Except the eyes – Lily's eyes." _Another one said. Harry said nothing. It was not his place to tell them, that he did not look exactly like James – but he could not argue with Lily's eyes. He was family after all.

Instead he focused on Moody who eyed him with distrust in his eyes.

"_Are you quite sure it's him, Lupin?" he growled. "It'd be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him. We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any Veritaserum?"_

The truth serum was nothing Harry would like to have, but a question that was easy. He was sure, he could answer the entire question they would throw at him. And Moody was right: He _could _be a Death Eater impersonating Harry. Not that he was – a Death Eater, mind you, impersonating Harry he of course did.

"If there just would be a real Harry." He thought, but said nothing and waited instead for the question.

"_Harry, what form does your Patronus take?" Lupin asked._

"_A stag" _Harry answered lying. It wasn't a stag. Well, he _could _change it to a stag – but when he didn't it was a Phoenix. It had been a Phoenix for a very long time.

"_That's him, Mad-Eye" said Lupin _and Harry nearly snorted. One simple question and they believed him?! And then it was a question about something another person would have easily seen for themselves would they just have been near Harry while he was casting. Not very secure – but well…

He stowed Harry's wand in his back pocked, while descending the stairs.

"_Don't put your wand there, boy!" roared Moody. "What if it ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!"_

While Tonks asked Moody about whom he knew who lost his buttocks and Moody was grumbling about wand-safety Harry discretely took out his wand again and slipped it in his wand-holster, where he carried one of his own. He would need to finish his extra for Harry's wand, but it would do until he got it ready. He just had to wait until it was as secure as the other ones – secure enough that even Moody could not locate them. And it was better like that. He would have a hard time explaining the other wands and of course the rest of the weaponry he was carrying.

So he instead asked Remus if they were leaving and where they were going.

"_Where are we going?" _He asked, trying to sound hopeful while hoping he was wrong. "_The Burrow?"_

"_Not The Burrow, no" _Remus replied to Harry's delight. "_Too risky. We've set up Headquarters somewhere undetectable. It's taken a while…"_

So they _were _going to Grimauld Place! Harry was so happy, that he didn't mind anything else this night. He let the introduction to the other members flow over himself and when he was send to pack he needed not more than a few minutes.

And then they were gone, flying through the night sky to London until they reached Grimauld. There Harry got a notice written in Dumbledore's hand and they finally entered the building Harry had been longing to get into for a few months now – Grimauld Place No 12.

Just before Harry could leave the hall, Moody stopped him. With a whispered "_Here" _he ended the Disillusionment Charm, but then held him back again while everyone entered in the kitchen.

"Why the glamour?" he growled whispering.

"My aunt doesn't like long hair" Harry answered. "So I found a glamour charm and applied it in school when I wanted to have long hair. My aunt doesn't see it, what makes her happy, and I have not as much trouble with long hair as with short, what makes me happy."

He stopped, then asked hesitating. "Will you end it?"

Moody snorted.

"A glamour for your hair? No, when you want to glamour it, do it. As long as it's just as little as that, do what you like – just do it in school and not at home."

"Yes, sir." And with that, Moody let him go. Harry had known that Moody would be able to see right through the glamour. But that was planed. It would have been more difficult when Moody would not have been able to see through it, but would have known it was there. Like that, he had just explain one party why he had glamoured his hair, would it have been different he might have had to drink Veritaserum – and that was something Harry would like to prevent. Of course he could have just cut his hair, but that was something he had not want to do. He hated to have short hair. And he would not have been able to cast a more undetectable glamour on his forehead – the scar that had to look like the original Harry's. But that was not all.

Someone in his position did not wear short hair – even if no-one told the previous Harry something like that…

Well, the previous Harry had not even been told about his position… but Harry would change that. He would play along until he was ready and then he would show them, that _he _wasn't Harry Potter.

It just would take some time.

Harry started to follow Mad-Eye in the kitchen, but was prevented from entering by Mrs Weasley who sent him up to the other children. Harry was alright with that. He was not interested in their strategies – well, he was, but he had Dobby to listen in. So instead of trying to listen, he slipped upstairs and opened one of the rooms to get in – and suddenly he was attacked by a very large quantity of bushy brown hair. In the last minute he recognised his attacker and stopped mid-casting. Not that anyone had noticed the spell…

"_HARRY! Ron, he's here, Harry's here! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how _are _you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our letters were useless – but we couldn't tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and you've got things to tell us – the Dementors! When we heard – and that Ministry hearing – it's just outrageous, I've looked it all up, they can't expel you, they just can't, there's provision in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations – "_

"_Let him breathe, Hermione", said Ron, grinning as he closed the door behind Harry._

Hermione did as she was told, and let Hedwig greet him, whom he hadn't seen since he had sent her to his friends. He let her nibble at his ear while still looking at his friends. Friends he had not talked to – friends who knew just the previous Harry. He instead was a foreigner. Looking like Harry, but not being him. He had no idea how the original Harry would have greeted them…

"We're really sorry" the boy said in that moment – Ron, Harry reminded himself, his name is Ron. "I know, you wanted answers the whole summer, but we couldn't give them. You know, _Hermione was going to spare, she kept saying you'd do something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us – "_

" – _swear not to tell me" said Harry _while still wondering how previous Harry would have reacted to this news. "_Yeah, Hermione's already said."_

"_He seemed to think it was best" said Hermione rather breathlessly. "Dumbledore, I mean."_

Of course she did.

Dumbledore this, Dumbledore that. Harry had known his friends were used to follow Dumbledore's path, but he had never known how much influence the old man had. He sighted.

"_I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles – " Ron began._

"_Yeah?" said Harry, raising his eyebrows. "Have either of _you _been attacked by Dementors this summer?"_

"_Well, no – but that's why he's had people from the Order of the Phoenix tailing you all the time – "_

This time Harry nearly grinned.

"_Didn't work that well, though, did it?" said Harry, doing his utmost to keep his voice even. "Had to look after myself after all, didn't I?"_

"_He was so angry" said Hermione, in an almost awestruck voice. "Dumbledore. We saw him. When he found out Mundungus had left before his shift had ended. He was scary."_

This time Harry didn't reply. He had heard enough. Hermione was hero-worshiping the old man and Ron wasn't better. He sighted inwardly. Of course, the man was hero-worshiped by them. They were children. But Harry wasn't – and Harry was sure, that he could be even scarier when he wanted to be. Dumbledore was just a puppet-player, no thread at all to someone who could strike from the shadows…

But the most of his people were Gryffindors – unable to see his flaws and blindly believing his words. But Harry wasn't a Gryffindor. He was the absolute Slytherin – and he would strike when he had Dumbledore cornered without the old man knowing of anything…

But first there was something else, Harry had to do…

That was the moment when he saw that his friends were staring at him as if waiting that a bomb erupted.

"Don't worry. I'm not angry", he said.

"You're not?" He could hear that Ron didn't believe him the slightest.

He shrugged.

"I knew they were following me. And I know, Dumbledore would never have let me leave my relatives when the Dementors wouldn't have happened – but that's fine. I knew he would bring me away from there as soon as the Dementors left. I don't like dwelling in the past. What happened, happened."

"But… but you have tried to get information from us the whole summer" Ron said stunned. "Why just suddenly give up?"

"Oh, I haven't given up at all" Harry answered grinning, "but I will not ask you, when you have sworn not to tell. I will get it from someone else…"

"Sirius?", Hermione asked with a knowing glance and Harry just smiled. No need to tell her, that he didn't need most of the information at all – that he had gotten them weeks or month ago… some of them even years ago…

He saw them relaxing and even later, when Fred and George tried to get some information through their extendable ears he just sat beside them, listening uninterested.

That was, until the meeting ended and the adults left. When Mrs Weasley came to get them to eat in the kitchen. She had just advised Harry to tip-toe down the stairs, when…

CRASH.

Tonks was lying on the ground. And while Mrs Weasley cried the young woman's name and said woman apologized, the curtains in the hall opened and the screeching voice of an old lady screamed:

"_Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers – "_

Harry stared at the screaming painting and when his eyes and the eyes of the painted woman met, he smiled at her – a gruesome smile, his eyes cold as death. Then he dared her to follow his gaze to his right hand, where a single ring sat, invisible for all he didn't want to see and saw back in her eyes.

Her eyes had widened. She knew. She knew who he was – and he knew she wouldn't dare to befoul _his_ name. There were few families the members of the old families feared, but his was one of them – even if it was just because of the connections his house had. So even when she dared to befoul all the others – she would never say anything foul to him again…

In that moment Sirius stormed in the hall and drew her curtains shut. No-one had seen Harry's short communication, had seen the woman stopping screeching before Sirius had reached her.

"_Hello, Harry" Sirius said grimly. "I see you've met my mother."_

Harry had. And he had silenced her in the second their eyes met.

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_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	10. Chapter 9: The House of Black

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

_sSsSsSs_

_Harry birthday to me, Harry birthday to me, Harry birthday, dear Ebenbild. Harry birthday to me!_

_For my birthday I decided to add an extra chapter (even if it's just a small one)_

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**The Noble And Most Ancient House of Black**

sss

The rest of the evening was quite entertaining for Harry. While Mrs. Weasley did all to stop Harry from getting any information, Sirius seemed determined that Harry should know as much as possible about the mess.

But Harry guessed that his godfather also had wanted to make it up to Harry. Not, that Sirius thought that Harry did have a horrible summer. Harry thought that at the beginning until Sirius had stated:_ "Don't know what you're complaining about, myself."_

At that Harry had been incredulous, but the answer he got told him everything.

"_Personally, I'd have welcomed a Dementor attack. A deadly struggle for my soul would have broken the monotony nicely. You think you've had it bad, at least you've been able to get out and about, stretch your legs, get into a few fights… I've been stuck inside for a month."_ Sirius had said and Harry had connected the spots in his head.

"_How come?" asked Harry, _officially _frowning. _But inside his mind had been reeling. His godfather sounded not like an adult – he sounded like a boy, searching for adventure and danger. Harry had not liked the thought of that very much. Feeling restless like that was the first mistake that lead to the path of death…

"_Because the Ministry of Magic's still after me, and Voldemort will know all about me being an Animagus by now, Wormtail will have told him, my big disguise is useless. There's not much I can do for the Order of the Phoenix… or so Dumbledore feels."_

And there had been the second part that had started to let Sirius feel bitter. Dumbledore. Harry could hear it in Sirius voice every time Dumbledore had been brought up this evening. But not just then. He had also heard it in different arguments – and not just that.

Harry had heard not only Sirius bitterness but also the arguing of the others, especially Mrs. Weasley.

One of the most telling sentences was her:_ "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"_

Dumbledore.

Dumbledore.

And Dumbledore again.

As if her argument would count more when it was Dumbledore who had ordered it. As if you had to obey because of Dumbledore.

Harry filled away what he heard for later. Maybe he could use it. Now he did not need information like that. He had different things at hand – like the argument Sirius at that moment had with Mrs. Weasley about Harry being James.

"_He's not _James, _Sirius!"_ Mrs. Weasley said furiously. Sirius answer was as heated as hers, even if his voice sounded cold, when he said: _"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly" _

"_I'm not sure you are!" said Mrs. Weasley. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"_

Well, that was some new approach.

Did they now fully confuse him with his father?!

Harry shrugged inwardly and returned to other things interesting him about the way his godfather acted.

He still listened to their argument about him, but this time a little lost in his thoughts. His mind drifted back to the time they were eating dinner, when Sirius had told him about the usefulness of Mundungus Fletcher. Harry still could taste the bitterness in Sirius voice when he commented that Mundungus was useful to the Order – not saying that he himself felt anything but.

Oh, yes. His godfather was bitter – and a lot of antipathy was heeding right at Dumbledore and his chronicle decease to toy with his… pawns…

Harry was sure that Sirius would spring into action as soon as he was able to.

Maybe…

Well, this thought had merit, but Harry would not decide for now. He had different things to do – and a maturity of these would not be solved in the next few hours…

But it needn't to be solved by them. Instead he waited till they had spilled everything to him that they wanted to say – inwardly laughing when Sirius used the term 'weapon' to describe Dumbledore's great plan.

Weapon.

Well, Harry knew Dumbledore's weapon.

Its name was Harry and it was fifteen years old.

Regrettably Harry was no longer available.

But that information was strictly secured until further notice and because of that not shareable.

Not that Harry really felt sorry for Dumbledore and his schemes.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Finally the day ended and the others went to bed. Of course, Harry followed and after that waited until he heard the snoring sounds of Ron.

It was way after midnight until Harry dared to leave the room again. He descended the stairs and stopped in front of the curtain which concealed the portrait. Warily he opened the curtain. The portrayed dame – Sirius's mother – stared at him, but reminded silence as soon as she saw who had dared to open the curtain.

"Lady Black" Harry said courtly.

"Lord Malfoy" she answered.

Harry smiled.

"It's Malfoire" he corrected her. "The English part of my family might call themselves Malfoy now – but I am part of the original House."

"Malfoire" the lady echoed. "Well, how come a pure-blood from a respectable family like yours is in company of blood-traitors and mudbloods?"

"I am scheming something" Harry answered shrugging. "And I am not only Lord Malfoire. I have also some other Houses to my name – and not one of them you would dare to cross. Truth to be told, Malfoire is even the least ancient."

"But you decided to go by their name" Lady Black said, raising an eyebrow. Harry shrugged.

"I am no Lord in my mother's House" he answered casually. "One day I might be, but until then I am still the heir."

"So you used your father's House" Lady Black said. "Pray tell, which House is your mother's? You seemed convinced that it would frighten me more."

Harry just smiled at her and asked.

"The protection-layer the old man laid upon the house – will it stop me from leaving and entering again or will it show someone that I did leave?"

The Lady frowned.

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to fetch some…thing" Harry finally said. "I need to know."

"The old man… you are talking about the Headmaster of Hogwarts – Dumbledore?"

"I am. And I know that he is out of a respectable family. That does not count anything." Harry answered.

"He is one of the Gryffindor-heirs" the Lady said. "It should count something."

"The House of Gryffindor did not follow his line – even if he wants the people to believe that." Harry said. "Truth to be told, the Houses of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw both never existed in the first place."

Now the lady was intrigued.

"So you want to tell me that every family tree with their names in it are lies?" The old lady asked coolly. Harry shrugged again.

"I just wanted to tell you that there has never been a House of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. There were some family members who carried on these names because they did not want to carry on their original ones – but the Houses themselves never existed."

"And how do you know?" The lady asked chilly.

"Don't worry, madam" Harry answered smiling. "Your House still is close kin to Hufflepuff – and much closer to Slytherin himself."

"Slytherin?" the Lady asked astonished. "I never knew. I knew of Hufflepuff – but there was no entrance that we are descendants of Slytherin."

"Oh, you are not" Harry answered shrugging. "You are close kin, not descendants – but that's something I cannot tell you tonight. I need to know of the shields and wards tonight, I might tell you your relationship with Slytherin some other day."

Lady Black sighted. Then she called: "Kreature!"

An old house-elf popped in, looking expectantly at his mistress, the sneer at Harry barely concealed.

"Kreature" Lady Black said. "This is the Lord Malfoire. He is a pure-blood and kin to us and you will treat him like that, do you understand?"

"Yes, mistress" the house-elf answered and his sneer vanished, now looking at Harry with interest in his eyes.

"He asked to leave the house without being seen" Lady Black continued. "Bring him, accompany him by whatever he wants to do and after that bring him back. Understood?"

"Yes, mistress" Kreature answered and gazed at Harry. "When Milord is ready, Kreature will bring him wherever he wants."

"Just in front of the house for tonight, Kreature" Harry said softly. "I might have a surprise for you and the Lady Black."

The portrayed woman raised an unbelieving eyebrow but stayed silence.

Kreature just extended his hand and when Harry took it, popped him out of the House.

Harry looked the street up and down.

"Reg?" he asked and waited until a black cat had left the shadows.

"The street's empty except of me and Kreature, Reg – and I believe it would be better to do it here than in the house. I don't want to wake someone."

The cat stared at him, then it nodded and a second later instead of a cat a man stood there with black hair and grey-blue eyes.

Kreature stared at him unbelievingly.

"Master Regulus!" he finally cried, flinging his arms around Reg's waist while wailing his eyes out. "Master Regulus is still alive!"

"Yes I am, Kreature" Regulus said, awkwardly patting the house-elf's shoulder. "And I am sorry that I just come home now. I am sorry I did not return as soon as I could, really, really sorry."

Harry snorted. He knew, Reg wasn't really sorry. Oh, Reg was sorry to leave Kreature behind because he loved the house-elf like a family member – but he wasn't sorry not to return home. He had not wanted to return and tell his mother about his changed view.

But that was something Reg would never tell poor Kreature.

"We should return to the house, Reg" Harry said and Kreature turned to look at him.

"Lord Malfoire is a wonderful wizard" Kreature declared. "Lord Malfoire brings young Master Regulus home. Lord Malfoire is a very absolutely wonderful wizard that he is!"

Harry smiled at the creature in front of him.

"It's Harry, Kreature" he corrected the house-elf. "No-one is allowed to know that I am Lord Malfoire. I go by Harry Potter at the moment."

Kreature stared at him, then he nodded seriously.

"Yes, Harry Potter sir" he said. "Kreature will not squeal on the blood-traitors and mudbloods who Lord Malfoire is. Lord Malfoire's secret is save with Kreature."

"Kreature, you mustn't tell anyone about Lord Malfoire" Reg said intensely. "It is most important for the things I and Harry want to accomplish."

"Yes, Master Regulus sir!" the house-elf said with gleaming eyes. "Everything the master commands."

Harry laughed at that.

"We seem to have another pair of eyes for us" he grinned at Reg. The other one shrugged.

"Let's wait and see" he said and then commanded Kreature to bring them back in.

The house-elf obeyed and a second later they were again standing in front of the portrait.

Lady Black gawked at them.

"Regulus!" she shrieked, Harry's silencing spell was just in time to prevent the rest of the house hearing her.

"Hello, mother" the young man answered. "I heard you're torturing my brother now."

The lady blinked.

"I am not torturing your brother, Regulus" she said.

"I hope you don't" Reg answered. "We need him for later. When he's crazy until then we could have some problems."

"But it also would make some things easier, Reg" Harry joked.

"Stop it, Harry" Reg snorted. "Do not lead me into temptation."

Harry just shrugged.

"I should return to bed" he said. "Ask Kreature about the locked and stow it away safely. We will have to do it later. We need a secured and clean space where I can draw the protection, this will take some time."

"It will" Reg answered and turned to Kreature. "When did you last clean in this house?"

Kreature squirmed under Reg's gaze.

"Kreature will begin now" he answered, still squirming. "Kreature will have it clean pretty soon."

"Don't" Reg answered. "Better leave it like that, so that the… guests… don't suspect anything wrong."

Kreature nodded dutifully.

"Just clean a room they are not occupying and rescue the library books. I also need the locket I asked you to destroy."

Kreature winced.

"I now know you had no way to destroy it" Reg said soothingly. "I am sorry I asked you something you had no way to fulfil. I know if you had had a way you would have done it. Don't punish yourself for it."

At that, Kreature wailed again and hugged Reg.

"Master Regulus is a great wizard" he howled. "He does forgive bad Kreature for not obeying his command!"

"I told you it wasn't you fault" Reg said earnestly. "I don't want you to punish yourself for something you cannot do in the first place. I will destroy it myself. I now know how."

"Yourself, huh?" Harry asked. "I was not aware that you are able to do it yourself now, Reg. Should I go and leave you to your task?"

"You know what I mean, S… Harry!" Reg growled. "And I _could _do it myself – the object just would not survive."

"Maybe I should let you do it then. The locket is an ugly thing – I would not cry if it was destroyed."

"Harry!" Reg stared at him as if he was mad. "The locket belonged to Slytherin – do you know the value of something like that?!"

"It's still nothing special" Harry answered shrugging. "And just because you live and breath the Founders today I don't have to think differently of something as ugly as that."

"And I thought you were born a Slytherin" Reg said shaking his head.

Harry stared at him.

"I'm quite sure my father's surname was not Slytherin" he told Reg. Reg snorted.

"I'm sure it wasn't" he confirmed. "But I did it not mean it like that – and you know that."

"Of course" Harry shrugged, then grinned. "But I liked to take it like that."

"Harry…"

"Oh, stop it, Reg" Harry said.

"But…"

"No, I will go to bed now. You can receive the ugly locket and hide it. We will destroy it as soon as Kreacher has a ritual-room ready. Good Night."

Reg sighted, but answered.

"Good Night" and with that Harry was of to bed.

Under his pillow was lying an edition of _The Quibbler_, one, that Harry had received two days ago. He grinned. In it there was a special section which showed a letter written to the _Daily Prophet _some days ago.

Beneath it, Xenophilius Lovegood, the editor of _The Quibbler_ had written his answers. _The Quibbler_ Harry had was an edition in advance, because it was a weekly paper and would be released on Thursday every week.

The next Thursday would be Harry found it a very fitting time. It was the day of his trial – a very fitting day indeed.

Harry smirked at that, remembering his letter and the answer he had received:

_sSsSs_

_Dear Mr. Twist_

_My name is Xenophilius Lovegood and I am the editor of the Quibbler._

_I know, I am not the editor you wanted to answer your letter – nevertheless I will try as I was intrigued when I read that someone so young like you dares to question our world and our press._

_Such courage and interest needs to be supported and so I decided to answer your questions to the best of my knowledge._

_My competitor, the _Daily Prophet _is a private publishing newspaper, whose shareholders decide what will be printed and what not. The same goes for my newspaper, but the difference is, that my newspaper solely has two shareholders. The _Daily Prophet _has many. The major ones are the Ministry – which has the majority – and a French family, I think._

_Definitely fact is, that the Ministry, as the major stockholder definitely can make sure that the _Daily Prophet _will following its lead. _

_Because of that, many of the articles the _Daily Prophet _writes, may contain facts, but they are also printed in a fashion that would indeed mislead the reader. So you should read every article that is printed with the thought in mind that my dear competitor tries to show the Ministry in its best light._

_Another fact is, that there are definitely reporters in the _Daily Prophet _who are using Quick Quote Quills. Because of this, a lot of their news are inaccurate or simply false. My dear competitor seems not to care about proven facts and has little regard of accuracy in any form._

_That shows also the fact that there are no consequences when the reporter uses Quick Quote Quills or faulty information._

_Of course, that leads to your question about serious journalism and the freedom of the press. Well, I can't say much about that except: As long as the Ministry is the major shareholder in the _Daily Prophet _there may be serious journalism all you like – it just will not be printed when it does not favor the shareholders._

_And when you want to see freedom of the press, you should not look at the _Daily Prophet._ It might be a private newspaper but even as a private one you are just as free, as your shareholders let you be._

_Luckily, I am one of the two shareholders of _The Quibbler _and because of that able to decide what to print on my own._

_When you ever have another question, just write me and I am willing to answer as good as I can._

_Xenophilius Lovegood_

_Editor-in-chief of _The Quibbler

_sSsSs_

"Let's see how the Ministry will react when their game is published publicly." Harry thought while closing his eyes. "I want to see them running with their tails between their legs – and it will end with that. This is just the beginning…"

And Harry did mean it. He knew he would not be able to do a lot until his trial, but slowly his game started – it just needed to finalize some major parts before he could finally move against the major players.

Harry would be waiting.

Waiting did not bother him. He was good at waiting.

Very good.

"Time for revenge" he whispered, then closed his eyes and slept.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_And on to Sal…_


	11. Chapter 10: 370 BC Catching Some Breath

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 370 BC**

**Catching Some Breath**

sss

When Sal returned the next time to Britannia, Loandom had turned into a village with mixed heritage. There were still druids but now there also were mundanes living beside them in harmony.

Sal strived through the streets, looking for the old part of Loandom. There were not many streets but it still took him some time to find his childhood home again. The house had changed. It had gotten a wooden door and a bench was sitting in front of it. In front of bench and door, two men were standing, arguing.

"I _wish_ to travel, uncle", the younger one said in that moment. "I am a staff maker and my profession is also needed elsewhere! They cannot all come to me to get a staff! I need to travel like father…!"

"You are too young, Dewin! Ask me again when you have reached the winter after next", the older one replied.

"I am a druid, uncle! Father would have let me go if…"

"Your father is dead and I will not let you go out there alone so that you can get yourself also killed!"

"I am old enough…!"

"You, Dewin, are a child! You know nothing of the world and its dangers! I will not get you killed! Your father would have slain me if I did!"

"But…"

Sal finally decided to interrupt the argument that seemed to go no were.

"I am home, atr", he greeted his father, the older one of the opponents. Myrddin Emrys turned when he heard Sal's voice and suddenly he smiled.

"Salvazsahar", he said, "you're back!"

The other one also turned to look at Sal, his eyes curious about the stranger that Salvazsahar was to him.

Sal bowed lightly to the foreign man to greet him – a bow that indicated, that Sal was the older one of them.

"Well met!" he said. "I am Salvazsahar ap Myrddin Emrys." It was traditional to name oneself the son of one's father – there was less interest in the magical name of a family then the name of the father. Sal found it odd but he had learned this strange custom as soon as he was back home in Britannia and had adopted it to not stand out too much.

"Well met!" the other one replied and bowed a little bit deeper. "I am Dewin ap Lleidr Ollivannder. You are this Myrddin Emry's son?" He asked, pointing at Myrddin.

"I am."

"And you have been traveling?"

"I travelled for years" Sal answered sincerely. He saw how the young man in front of him scrutinized him and tried to estimate Sal's age. Finally the young man seemed to come to a conclusion.

"So he let you go and I have to stay?! That does not sound fair to me!" Sal was sure the young man in front of him had underestimated Sal's age – of course, since Sal was looking like thirty-something of age, this was no surprise.

"You must have travelled alone way before my age today!" Dewin concluded. "And he let you go!"

Sal just snorted when he understood that the young man had decided to use Sal's "youth" to get Myrddin to agree to let him go.

"He let me go" Sal answered casually. "When I was more than a hundred of age – I am quite sure he will let you go earlier than that. You aren't his son after all."

Now Dewin gawked at him.

"May I ask…" he finally said, but trailed of before stating his question. Sal still knew what Dewin had wished to ask.

"… How old I am?" he finished the sentence. "I don't know. Something around three hundred years of age."

Dewin stared at him, then he blushed.

"Forgive me for judging you a lot younger" he said. Sal just shrugged. He knew that in this time the old were the wise and being old was a privilege and not a curse.

"Do not worry" he answered the younger man. "I do not hold it against you."

The young man nodded and Sal turned to his father.

"Why do you hold him here, atr?" he asked Myrddin. "He seemed to be a wise lad. Don't you think that he needs the experience of making staffs for his profession? Being here will not help him to get better in his work – there are far too less druids to aid him with that."

"He has completed his blood-awakening just yesterday" Myrddin answered. "He still is too young to travel alone."

"Then why did you not go with him?" Sal asked interested. Myrddin just sighted.

"I am an old man, Salvazsahar. I am weary of travel and I could not let the lad go by himself. He has no experience with travel. He will not survive out there for a mere day without one showing him how to."

Sal knew his father was right. Dewin Ollivannder had no experience with travel – someone who did not know what to look out for would definitely fail. There were too many dangerous places and creatures in the world to survive without the knowledge of them. And then all the other, little things like finding a place to sleep, conservation of food and a lot more – also more important things like medical care and being able to fight. Most children learned to fight – but just a few learned how to treat wounds.

"So he has to stay" Sal said, looking at his father.

"If I need someone with me – why don't you come with me?" Dewin said in that moment. "Uncle trusts you, you are his son after all and you are definitely old enough – when you would come I would be able to go without uncle arguing against it."

"I returned home today, Dewin" Sal reminded the lad. "I haven't even set a foot into my childhood home until now."

Dewin blinked and blushed.

"You haven't, forgive me" he said.

Myrddin just sighted. "I know you are eager to travel the world, Dewin. But you are too young to travel alone…"

"And there is no one that would travel with me" Dewin finished Myrddin's sentence sullenly. Myrddin just sighted.

"Forgive me, lad."

Sal just sighed.

"How about arguing about travelling or not travelling tomorrow? I am sure Dewin will survive in this town for another day" he finally said. Dewin just bowed to show that he was alright with Sal's suggestion.

This evening Sal and Myrddin were catching up. Sal learned that Dewin's father had died two years ago and that Myrddin had taken in the lad after that. He also learned that Dewin had the idea to sell his staffs not just near Loandom but everywhere in Britannia.

"You should not stifle his dreams, atr" Sal finally said. "When he wants to go – even if he is young – he should go."

"You know I cannot let him go alone – and he still should wait a bit. He has just finished his blood-awakening yesterday. His body needs time to adjust to the changes" Myrddin answered. "I cannot let him go now."

Sal just inclined his head to show he had listened to his father and bowed to his wisdom.

"But you also should let him go to live his dream" he said again to his father.

"You plan to go with him and keep him save" Myrddin said now smiling. Sal just inclined his head again.

"I will" he answered. "But I also want to stay here for some month before going. I will speak to Dewin tomorrow. I will ask him to wait some month. After that I will go with him and travel through Britannia."

"So you are not weary of travel, my son?" Myrddin asked softly. Sal just smiled.

"I will have to travel for many years until I find a way home. I am not allowed to be weary of travel."

And so he and Dewin started to travel through Britannia just half a year later. They travelled for over ten years, returning every few month home to Loandom. While they travelled, Dewin started to teach Sal how to make staffs. Sal had asked him if he would do so because Sal had started to be interested in them after he had gotten his oak-staff – another reason had been that Dewin soon needed help to make all the staffs he was asked to do. There were few staff makers in Britannia and a lot of druids were in dire need for a fitting staff. So Sal also learned to be a staff maker just to aid Dewin in his work.

After the years travelling they returned to Loandom and Dewin started his business. Sal aided him the next decades. He also aided Dewin's son and grandson but finally, 245 BC, he could not stay still anymore. So he went to his father and told him good-bye.

After that he travelled east until he reached the sea, crossed it and returned to Europe. It was time to start his search for a way home again…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	12. Chapter 11: 15 AD A Caste in The Woods

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 15 AD**

**A Castle in The Woods**

sss

Salvazsahar was back. After he had returned to Myrddin 370 BC he had lived in Loandom for some time. There he had met a descendant of his godfather Ollivanneder. This descendant had the idea to start a business in Loandom – and Ollivander's wands were born. Sal had helped to create wands and sell them for some time. But then he got weary again. He had wanted to do something else. So he had visited the elves and lived with them. Then he had lived with a Vampire coven. He finally had left Britain some two hundred years ago and had travelled through Europe. He had lived in Greek, with the Germanic tribes and in Rome. He even had returned to Egypt once or twice.

And now he had returned home again.

It was an old known path to him he was travelling now – a path that would him bring back in a few weeks to his childhood home. The first time he had travelled the path was more than five hundred years ago when he first arrived in this time.

Yesterday he had reached the place where Myrddin had found him and now he was following the invisible route they had been wandering. It felt good to return home… He knew his father was well. They were writing each other regularly. But his father had no idea that Salvazsahar was returning.

Sal hadn't told him. Instead he wanted to surprise him.

xXxXx

In that moment a rider suddenly broke through the woods. Salvazsahar stopped dead. The rider instead turned and looked at him, in his hands a shield and a sword.

"Who entered the realms of the king?" The rider asked.

_King?!_

_There was a king in Britain?!_

It was the first time, Sal had heard something about that.

"I am Salvazsahar Emrys, at your service" he finally answered. "I have been born in a place some fortnights south from here."

"Emrys?!" This time he heard surprise in the voice of the rider – maybe knight. "As in Myrddin Emrys?"

"My father" Sal answered sincerely. "I was going to visit him."

"Then your path has led you astray" The rider said. "Camelot is a little bit more West from here."

This time Sal stared at the man in front of him. _Camelot?! Like in King Arthur's Camelot?! And why, pray tell, should his father be in Camelot?!_

"I have been away for some time" Sal finally said carefully. "And I never have been in Camelot before. I would not know if my path leads me astray."

Now the knight – he had to be a knight when he was from Camelot – laughed.

"So your father's description was lacking?"

"He never gave me one" Sal answered. "I came by myself. I wanted to surprise him." He was still not sure that they were talking about the same Myrddin Emrys, but he decided to first understand the situation a bit better before mentioning something like that.

The knight shed his sword again and turned his horse so that it faced the direction he came from.

"Lancelot, at your service" he said. "I will bring you to your father."

"I don't want you to burden yourself with me" Sal said a little bit uncomfortable. "Just give me direction and I will find him myself."

"Oh, you are no trouble, lad" Lancelot said, smiling down at Sal. "I am glad to accompany you, my friend."

Salvazsahar stared at the knight in front of him.

_Lad?!_

The knight might be looking like he was at least thirty winters and Sal again had his fifteen year old body, which might look more like a thirteen or fourteen year old – but really… _Lad?!_

Sal finally decided to say nothing. Instead he followed the horse through the woods.

"So… how long it is that you last saw your father?" Lancelot asked while riding beside him.

"I don't know" Sal answered, shrugging. "Some years, maybe."

"Some years?"

Sal shrugged again.

"I did not count them" He said carefully. "Maybe a decade or longer. It was some time ago." Of course it was longer – but Sal knew he did not look old enough for that so he had to be careful what he was telling. He could be a little bit older then he looked – but there was a limit. After that it would sound unbelievable.

When the knight heard his words he raised an eyebrow.

"So you had no contact with him since he started to teach King Arthur fifteen years ago?" he clarified.

"He has been writing me" Sal answered, shrugging. "So we definitely had contact."

Lancelot stared at him.

"How old are you, lad?" He finally asked.

Sal blinked and stared back.

"I beg your pardon?" He asked.

"How many winters do you count?" The knight asked again. "Fifteen? Sixteen?"

Sal opened his mouth to tell him that he was older then he looked, but the knight continued oblivious to Sal's protest.

"You know, since I joint King Arthur, I sometimes talked to your father. He is always watching over Arthur, always at his side when Arthur needs an advice. And maybe the rest of the castle is blind to it – but I am not. I see him often looking at Arthur with a gaze that tells me that he doesn't want to talk to _Arthur _now. Sometimes he locks himself in his study, not leaving it for days, standing at the window and searching the sky."

And suddenly Sal felt guilty.

Did his father miss him?! Of course, Sal also missed his father, but he had been searching for a way back home to the future – a home that felt less home with every year that passed. Did his father dread that Sal would find a way back?

And did Sal even want to return?

He had learned to live here. He had a family. Maybe… maybe he should stay. Maybe he should stop his search until… _Until what? Forever?_

xXxXxXxXx

"Your father mentioned your name sometime" Lancelot said. "Every time he had to tell a story at the story-time we have every fortnight in the Great Hall. It is a gathering of Arthur's knights and his mentors. Arthur lets us tell our adventures and our pasts. Myrddin normally says nothing. But when Arthur wants him to tell a tale, he always tells about you. He calls you Sal – and some things he had told us sound unbelievable."

"Unbelievable?" suddenly Sal could picture that it was really his father that was living at King Arthur's court.

"Well, the last one was about killing a Basilisk with nothing than a sword when you were a mere child."

And suddenly Sal laughed. It really _was_ his father. He remembered Myrddin's pride and horror when he had stumbled over this memory while teaching Sal Occlumency. Sal had told him all after that and Myrddin was livid. He had right-out ordered to take him with him to the future so that he could scream at Sal's Headmaster for letting such a beast near mere children.

"He was stricken with horror when I told him" Sal said, still laughing. "He wanted to see my arm trice before he was sure that the Basilisk-venom had not killed me!"

Lancelot nearly fell from the horse-back.

"The story was true?" he asked half-horrified half-awed.

Sal shrugged and pushed back his sleeve to show the scar. "It bid me" He said casually. "It was a phoenix that healed me."

The knight looked at the scar and shuddered.

"I am surprised that your father did not insist that you would never leave his side again." He said, shuddering.

"How many winters did you count when this happened? Two? Three? As big as the scar is you must have been no more than a toddler!"

Sal wanted to protest again, tell him, that the Basilisk simply had been a very old and maybe senile one, but Lancelot talked again.

"Then the rest of the stories are also true? Fighting dragons? Flying a carriage? Visiting places you were forbidden to go? Fighting trolls?!"

"Uh… maybe" Sal answered nervously. "I… I was not very good at listening as a child. But atr wasn't there for the most of it so I was not reprimanded by him…"

"You mean your father was teaching Arthur for the most of the time" Lancelot said grimly. "And neither of us ever thought about letting Myrddin go so that he could get you. We even held him back every time he wanted to return home!"

Sal blinked, not knowing what to say. He had been all grown up and wandering when Myrddin had started to teach Arthur – so how come this knight thought that Sal was still a child?!

Salvazsahar decided that that was a question just his father would be able to answer.

"We were egoistic and cold-hearted bastards weren't we?" Lancelot said. "He told us about you but we never thought that maybe you really existed. We never thought he was talking about his own son!"

"Arthur is an _Olde _one" Sal said, remembering what his father had once told him in one of his letters about his new apprentice – not that Sal had known his father was talking about _King_ Arthur... "It is dangerous not to train an _Olde _one. Arthur needed him to learn about his heritage and father knows his responsibility. He would not leave him as long as Arthur needs him. This is the responsibility of a Firbolg-born – even if said Firbolg-born isn't the father of the boy."

"Even if he has left behind his own son?" Lancelot asked bitterly.

"I did not need him" Sal answered sincerely. "Arthur did."

Lancelot snorted.

"I don't believe that" he said stubbornly.

Silence filled the air for a few minutes, then the woods stayed back and suddenly they were standing in front of a castle.

"Welcome to Camelot" Lancelot said and Sal looked up.

His eyes grew big.

He knew this castle!

Memories washed over him, while he stared that the majestic silhouette, that ruled over the hills and forest like a beloved queen. Even if he would forget everything he ever knew, Sal knew he would remember this castle.

His home.

His first home ever.

It was… Hogwarts!

xXxXxXxXx

They strode to the entrance, Lancelot had left his horse at the stables – which stood where later Hagrid's hut would be standing.

With a nod to the guards Lancelot entered the old castle, guiding Sal through these ancient and well-known halls until they reached the Great Hall.

There one of the guards stopped them.

"The king is talking with Myrddin about the stronghold. They are planning defence-strategies. Arthur asked not to disturb him."

"He might have asked that" Lancelot said. "But some things are more important than defence-strategy – and I know a prisoner in this castle that would stop feeling like one if we're allowed to enter."

_Prisoner?_

But this time Sal could not protest. Maybe Lancelot was right and the duty of his father had held him prisoner.

Lancelot simply by-passed the surprised guards and grabbed Sal's arm to bring him with him.

The knight opened the door and it banged on the walls.

In the middle of the Great Hall stood a round oak-table. The ceiling wasn't enchanted and on the pedestal was just one throne instead of the teacher's table – but it clearly _was _the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

And at the table stood a man, maybe as old as Lancelot and another one who looked very old. He had white hair but the eyes… the eyes…

"Lancelot!" the younger man said with annoyance in his voice. "I told the guards I do not want to be disturbed!"

Sal could see the other man's eyes travel over his face, his clothes and his own eyes…

"Atr" he said.

And suddenly the man came running. He had rounded the table before a startled Arthur could even utter another word. And a second later Sal found himself in the embrace of his father.

"Salvazsahar!" He heard his name while his father's hands seemed to search his body for injuries. "Thank to whoever it belongs! You're alright! You're alright!"

Sal blinked. At the moment he was smaller than his father so he had to look up to the old man's face. And there he saw the fear. The fear that something could have happened to him between one letter and the next. The fear that he would see him never again.

Guilt crept through Sal's stomach.

"I am sorry, atr" He murmured in his father's tunic. "I am so sorry!"

His father's embrace tightened.

"You are back – and that's all I ever wanted" Myrddin answered, still caressing him.

In that moment Arthur butted in.

"So you know the lad, Myrddin?" he asked, but before even Myrddin or Sal could think about answering Lancelot did.

"The lad is Myrddin's son" Lancelot answered and his voice sounded chilly. "The son who has not seen his own father for fifteen years – just because _you_ did not let Myrddin leave for even half a year! Have you ever spent a thought that Myrddin maybe did not want to leave to have some free time but to see his own family again?!"

Arthur opened and then closed his mouth again. He looked at Sal who was still in the tight embrace of his father.

"Your son, Myrddin?" He asked.

Myrddin loosened his embrace, but one of his hands remained on Sal's shoulder.

"Yes" he said calmly. "This is Salvazsahar Serendu Harryjames Emrys, my child. Sal, this is King Arthur Pendragon, my student."

Sal bowed.

"Your majesty" he said, unsure how he should react to this situation.

The king laughed.

"As the child of my mentor, you may call me Arthur" he said but his eyes were sever. "I did keep you apart, didn't I?" he asked.

"It was not your fault" Sal said but Arthur's eyes had turned to Myrddin.

"I would have sent someone to bring him here" he said. "If you would have told me, I would have brought him. He must have been a mere babe when you left him to train me."

Sal huffed. Did he really look so young?! But he said nothing because of the squeeze his father gave his shoulder.

"He was young" Myrddin confirmed. "But you had to learn – and there was no-one but I. My child had his godfather to learn from."

Sal looked at his father surprised. So Myrddin had created a farce… whatever why…

"His godfather?" Arthur asked sounding suddenly guilty. "What is with his mother?"

"She died shortly after my first winter" Sal answered.

"She was ill?" Lancelot asked softly.

"She was killed" Sal corrected. "She died to protect me."

When he said that his father's eyes became grim.

"She did – and one day this mad man will pay for that." He said.

"Just tell me where he is and who and I will send my men" Arthur said, looking from father to son. But both of them just shook their heads.

"You can't" Myrddin answered. "Just like I could not send your men for my son."

Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Myrddin just kept going.

"I told you I visited the world when I was young" he said to Arthur. The king nodded.

"My son's mother was part of this world." Myrddin said. "I returned home to Britain, but the last time my son had been in Britain he just had been born. He did not grow up here and I could not send your men to a foreign country to bring him here, as much as I would have liked that."

Sal could just admire his father. Myrddin had not straight out lied to Arthur – well, except of some minor corrections to smother the story – but he had put the truth together so that it sounded different than it really had happened. Sal's mother had been from the future and as such never had entered the Britannia Myrddin knew. Sal had been reborn in Britannia and left to search for a way to return to the future – and he did not grow up in this Britannia also. And of course there had been no way to send men after a grown up adult, travelling the world. So all Myrddin had said had been true somehow – and still all had happened different then Arthur would understand it…

"I will have to let him teach me that" Sal mused. "It will take time – but I'm sure it's worth it."

Arthur just sighted when he heard Myrddin's words.

"I understand. But please remember that I would aid you whenever you need it. Just tell me and I will send my men. This is all I can do to repay your kindness."

Myrddin just inclined his head.

"As you wish, Arthur" he said.

But then he stayed silence. Arthur waited a few minutes, and then he sighted again.

"You will not ask for my help, will you?"

"No" Myrddin said. "I told you before that there is nothing you can do."

"And there is also nothing else…"

This time Myrddin stopped and looked thoughtfully at his son. Sal said nothing. He knew his father was thinking about something that would change Sal's life – but Sal had accepted long ago that in that time he was living now the father had the right to decide for his son, even if said son was normally all grown up... Sal did not like it but he knew that he had to accept it.

Myrddin had the right to choose what Sal would do. He normally did not use his right and that he was thinking about it meant that it was something his father thought was necessary to learn…

"If you want to help me" Myrddin finally said. "Would you teach my son? You have skills I do not have as you have been taught it by your uncle and father until you lost them when you turned fifteen. You can repay me with teaching some of it to my son."

This time it was Arthur who scrutinized Sal.

"It would be an honour" he answered finally.

"And I will do the same!" Lancelot declared. "For a long time I wanted to teach a youngster how to fight – this is the ideal opportunity!"

Sal was not sure if he really could say the same.

"Well… we will stop working for today" Arthur said looking at Lancelot. "Lancelot and I will work out a training plan for your son and will present it to you tomorrow. For now enjoy the time with your son, Myrddin."

"I will" Myrddin answered and led Sal from the room. They stayed silence until they reached Myrddin's quarters. There, after he had shut the door and silenced it, Sal started to speak.

"Please explain, atr" he said. There was no need to add what he wanted to know. Myrddin knew that Sal was talking about the misdirection he was using on Arthur.

"We are both too old to explain it without telling everyone that we are more creature then human" Myrddin said. "Even if they know about Firbolg-born no-one ever understood the difference between us and them – and I do not like to explain it."

"But… isn't Arthur himself an _Olde _one? Will he not live longer than the others?" Sal asked surprised.

"He is and he will" Myrddin said. "But he still will just live on for another century or two. His family still might have the soul of the Firbolg-born but he is not a descendant of a Phoenix."

"So it's the Phoenix-blood" Sal said.

"Yes" Myrddin answered. "A Phoenix is a creature which is born again and born again. It decides when it dies to be born again and it decides when it is old. Its blood in our veins does give us longer lives than even the other Firbolg-born have."

"And you decided to tell him nothing about that…"

"Yes" Myrddin said. "And also nothing about our ability to age. This is Family Magick – so no-one does have to know except of family, do you understand?"

"Yes" Sal nodded.

"It is the same with the Family Magick of Arthur or the others" Myrddin said. "We are unable to use them and we should not know them at all."

Sal just nodded.

"So I have to be fifteen because I came looking like it" he concluded.

"Yes" Myrddin said smiling. "But I am glad you did. Arthur and Lancelot are some of the best fighters I know – it will be good if you learn from them as much as you can."

"And because of that you decided to take Arthur's offer…"

"Yes" Myrddin said smiling. Then he turned serious again.

"I also discovered that someone of your family started to live near Britain."

Sal stared at him confused.

"Someone of my family?"

"Your green eyes – I once told you it's a family trait, didn't I?" This time Sal just nodded.

"Well, the LeFay-family has started to live in Avalon" Myrddin said. "I know you know nothing about the rest of your Family Magick. You might want to seek an apprenticeship with them."

"But…"

"One day you need to know what you are able to do" Myrddin said. "Learning Family Magick is an important part of your abilities – if you ever discover the rest of your ancestry I want you to go to the family to learn from them, do you understand?"

"Yes" Sal said hesitating. "Do I have to go soon?"

"No" Myrddin answered. "But I want you to go to Morgana LeFay one day. I heard she is a healer – and as a healer she cannot hurt anyone. There is an oath to prevent it. She would be a perfect candidate to learn from."

Sal just nodded while his mind was reeling. He was a descendant of Morgana LeFay?! The witch whose son had killed… would kill… Arthur?!

Sal did not know much about history but that was something he had learned in the Muggle-world a long time ago in his own time. He wasn't sure if Binns ever talked about it in magical history but he knew enough from human history to shudder at the thought to belong to Morgana's family…

Not that he could prevent to belong to it…

"I will go to her one time" he promised. "But I will first stay with you."

Myrddin smiled at him.

"And I am happy about it" he said while he ruffled Sal's hair. "And now tell me about your adventures."

And so they spent the afternoon and the evening with stories about Sal's travel through the world. They finally climbed to bed late at night exhausted from telling and listening.

The next day Arthur indeed had worked out a lesson plan and Sal's lessons with Arthur, Lancelot and Gawain – another knight of Arthur – started. Arthur had been the one to decide what Sal had to be taught and Myrddin had just nodded when Arthur talked about the lessons he had chosen.

Sal himself was not entirely happy with his lesson plan but a glance of his father prevented him from protesting about it.

So it came that he had lessons about history, fighting, politics, etiquette, battle magic and battle strategy.

Arthur was teaching him battle magic and politics, Lancelot fighting and battle strategy and Gawain etiquette and history. Because of Sal's unusual good memory they could teach him very fast. Especially Arthur used this ability of Sal to his advantage and soon Sal had to dodge fire-balls Arthur was hurling at him with pleasure.

Sal himself had never seen magic like these fire balls. Arthur produced them with his bare hands and seemed to use them with ease. Sal just thought that they were utterly awesome. Because of that he started to try to produce them himself when he was alone.

At first he was unable to do it but some weeks later he finally could produce a simple little flame in his bare hands.

"Now I just have to try to make them grow" Sal said to himself grinning, looking at the easily produced flame in his hands.

"What are you doing, child?" a voice asked him from behind. Sal turned and stared at Arthur.

"I… I…" he stuttered, feeling like a little child in front of his elder. "I…"

Arthur instead looked at the flame in Sal's hands with an astonished gaze.

When Sal saw where Arthur was looking he extinguished the flame in his hands.

"Forgive me, Arthur" he said with guilt in his voice. "I should not have…"

"Can you do it again, child?" Arthur asked instead. His voice sounding strange.

Sal hesitated a moment, then he produced his flame again.

Arthur extracted his hands at the flame until he could feel it. His eyes widened and he looked at Sal with an astonished gaze.

"Can you tell me how you did it?" he asked Sal.

Sal just shrugged.

"I wanted to" he said. "I… I tried to do it since I saw you using the fire balls the first time… I… forgive me if I did something I shouldn't have done…!"

"No… no it's all right, child" Arthur said softly and ruffled Sal's hair. Sal wasn't sure how to interpret this gesture. Normally an adult not related to a child did not touch it. It was seen as improper to do so – and Arthur had never broken this unwritten rules until now…

"Tell me child: what do you know about your mother?" he asked Sal.

Sal hesitated, then answered truthfully.

"I know that she was young when she died and that my parents weren't married long. I know I have her eyes and I know that she was brilliant. I don't think that atr knew her a long time" he said, mixing the truth with a little lie to make it believable.

"So you don't know the family she was born into?" Arthur asked.

Sal just shrugged.

"Not really" he answered not fully lying.

"I see" Arthur said, ruffling Sal's hair again. "And don't worry child. I am not angry with you. Come with me. I will show you some other things."

Sal hesitated a moment but then did as he was told.

Four hours later he returned to the rooms he shared with his father, utterly exhausted. Arthur really had shown him other things. He had shown Sal how to control fire without trying to produce it and the same he had also shown him for plants. Sal had tried both until he was able to help a flower to bloom and a fire to burn without wood.

It was an exhausting way to use magic and Sal just fell to bed to sleep. He slept through the night and was woken in the morning by his father who told him they were called to Arthur.

So Sal stood up and followed his father to the Great Hall.

"Myrddin, Sal" Arthur greeted. "I have called you to ask you for a favour."

"My Lord?" Myrddin asked. Sal was equally surprised but as a 'minor' he was not allowed to speak until been spoken to. He had long ago learned to follow rules like that – even if he not really was a minor anymore.

"Myrddin, I wish to adopt your son" Arthur said. Sal blinked. _Adopt him?! Sal had a father so why…?_

"I need an heir and I am unsure how long it will take until I get one myself. I ask for your permission to take on your son as my heir until then." Arthur said.

"I am honoured, my Lord" Myrddin answered. "Unfortunately Sal is too old to take in a part of your soul – he cannot be your true heir. Maybe an adopted substitute who has access to a little bit of your family magic but never like an adopted heir of a normal druid. Don't forget, we are Firbolg-born. Our souls don't have the softness and flexibility of human souls. If you were a normal druid you could give him full access to your family magic – as an _Olde _one it cannot be."

"I know" Arthur said calmly. "You taught me well, Myrddin. And because of that I decided to ask for your son. _He_ can use my Family Magick. I saw it myself. Somewhere in your wife's line there has once been someone of my family. My blood is already flowing through his veins. I just need to adopt him in the main line."

Sal blinked in surprise. _He was a descendant of Arthur?! But how did Arthur know?!_

And then Sal remembered Arthur's gaze when he saw Sal's fire – when he _touched_ Sal's fire…

_Family Magick?!_

Had Arthur tested him yesterday to confirm what he had seen the first time he had seen Sal producing the fire?! Had Arthur given him the tasks to make sure Sal was really using Arthur's Family Magick?! Sal suddenly felt like a child who touched something he never should have been near at all…

Myrddin looked a little bit astonished himself and he turned to Sal to scrutinize his son.

"Are you sure about that, Arthur?" he asked. Arthur nodded.

"I am." He answered. "Will you give me permission?"

"Do you know how far from the main line he is?" Myrddin asked.

Arthur just shrugged.

"We will see" he answered. "The nearer he is the stronger he will be after the adoption."

Again Myrddin scrutinized Sal. Sal knew he would have no say in this decision. Myrddin was his father – he was the one who would decide on Sal's fate. Sal knew he would have hated it back, when he was in his own time – but he had long ago learned to adapt, especially because he knew his father would decide against it if he believed Sal would be unhappy in the arrangement.

"I will not give up my rights for my son" Myrddin said in that moment.

"I do not want you to, Myrddin" Arthur said. "I simply want to add a parent."

Myrddin was silent for another minute, then he slowly nodded.

"If you wish" he said. "I will give you my son as your heir. You will have the right to teach him and the right to decide what is best for him – but I have the same rights. I will not give them up."

Arthur hesitated a moment, then he inclined his head.

"So mot it be" he said.

"So mot it be" Myrddin answered.

Sal blinked. He had thought that his father would not allow Arthur to adopt him. But he said nothing until he reached the rooms he was living with his father.

"You will let him adopt me?" he asked.

Myrddin sighted.

"I know you don't like the idea, Salvazsahar" he said. "You are older then he and you feel like an adult. But please understand my decision. Arthur said that you _can_ do parts of his family magic – so someone of your family must have been a descendant of him. I cannot teach you the magic you need to know for this part of your heritage – and if Arthur wants to adopt you and teach you I will not deny it to you. You have a right to know your Family Magick."

Sal sighted.

"So I will have to play a child again" he said. Myrddin just smiled.

"I am sure you will have to do something like that more often in the future. As long as you don't find a way home you will have to fit in. Sometimes it will be easier to fit in as a child" his father answered. "So don't fret, Sal. You have been playing a child since you arrived. You just continue like that."

"Yes. And I will be taught by someone again" Sal said sneering.

"You have been taught since you have arrived."

"Yes" Sal said. "But at that time I wasn't the son of one of my teachers…"

"Deal with it" was his father's cold-hearted advice.

And that Sal had to.

A day later he was given a potion with the added blood of Arthur in it – the adoption potion. He drank it without protest.

He did not change much after that. Just his eyes started to be even greener then they were before. They suddenly seem to carry an inner light that they had lacked before.

But there also was a different. Not soon after the adoption Sal discovered that his ability to do Arthur's Family Magick had risen skywards.

"You must have been quite near to the main line" Arthur said when he discovered that Sal suddenly could nearly feel the fire he could control. "The entering in the main line has given you a power bust like it is seen seldom. You must understand that you now have the ability of your previous status in the family and the ability of your new one. They mixed and created… well… your power."

"I see." Sal answered. That night he asked his father if it was possible that he had belonged to the main line all along.

"Yes" his father answered. "I even guessed that you did belong to it before. The power behind your Family Magick indicates that you had enough ability to be the Lord all along. You might even have been the Lord in your time."

And he hadn't known it – but that was left unsaid. It unsettled Sal that everyone in his time had kept something important like that from him.

"If I ever return I will find out why I do know nothing about my family at all" Sal vowed to himself. After that they never spoke about his position in the future again.

Sal was taught by Arthur and the other knights. His lessons had increased after he was adopted to the main-family.

But the most important part Myrddin told him some weeks later.

"When I and Arthur die" Myrddin said. "You will have to hold the wards of Camelot. The castle was built by me and Arthur so it's our magic that is holding the wards. As our heir it will be yours when we are gone. After we die you will be the one who is the lord of the land. You have to look after the people that live here."

"But what's with the child Arthur will have?" Sal asked.

"As long as he does not acknowledge it, it will not have control of anything" Myrddin answered. "You are his heir until he decides otherwise. Prepare for it."

And that was the final word spoken in that matter. Sal learned all he could and finally he said good-bye to his fathers and started to travel again. Arthur let him go as Sal told him that he wanted to learn more and Myrddin knew where Sal would go. It was time to learn more about family.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	13. Chapter 12: 25 AD Learning From Family

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Year 25 AD**

**Learning From Family**

sss

Sal was nervous.

He had entered the island where he heard Morgana lived the day before and stood now in front of her home.

Avalon.

Sal had come to Avalon.

He had heard rumours about Morgana LeFay and her ability to heal. Of course he had also heard that she adored the Dark Arts – nothing Sal wanted to learn.

But he had to. He had to know and he wanted to learn healing – and Family Magick. He had decided this since his father had told him about his heritage. Since his father had told him, his eyes told the world that he was born a LeFay. And since he had learned how he could be the descendant of Arthur and Morgana. It had been three and a half years ago when Morgana had come and cornered Arthur. Sal had not been there at that time and had later heard about the argument – the argument about Morgana's son whom she had born after a night she had shared with Arthur.

Arthur had not been pleased that the child had been born and had not wanted the child as his heir. Simple said he had denied the birth right to his child and Myrddin had guided Morgana out of the castle. Sal did not know how it happened but the result of this meeting was a shared enmity between Sal's fathers and Morgana.

So Sal might be a descendant of Morgana, but he also was Myrddin's son – and Morgana hated Myrddin…

And because of that Sal was standing in front of the door, unsure how to proceed…

xXxXxXxXx

"Do you want to stand there forever, lad?" a sarcastic voice asked and suddenly the door opened and Salvazsahar was looking at a middle-aged woman who carried a maybe four year old child on her hip.

"Uh…" Sal said, stuttering "I… I was looking for Morgana LeFay. I was told she lives here." He finally said, looking at the woman.

She had pitch-black hair and deadly glowing green eyes. Sal knew these eyes. They were the same he had inherit from his own mother.

The boy on Morgana's hip did not have these eyes. He had brown ones – eyes that reminded Sal of Arthur…

"So this child is Mordred" Sal thought, then he corrected himself. "Medrawd. His name was changed over time. It's Medrawd."

"And who is looking for me?" Morgana asked him, staring at him coolly but intensively.

"My name is Salvazsahar Emrys" Sal had thought about calling himself 'LeFay' but he did not want to trick her with that. He might be a LeFay by blood, but he never carried the name before.

"Emrys?" she asked, still staring. "As in _Myrddin_ Emrys?"

"Uh… I guess" Sal answered nervously.

"What do you want, breed of Myrddin?"

"I… I…" Sal gulped and found his courage. "I am here to ask for an apprenticeship." He said, squaring his shoulders.

Morgana raised her eyebrows.

"The breed of Myrddin asks me, great Morgana LeFay for an apprenticeship?" she said, suddenly sounding dangerous.

Sal's gaze grew cold when he met her eyes head on. He stared back, daring her to say anything more than she had before – and Morgana blinked.

"You're no Emrys" she finally said. "You're of _my _blood. _You_ are my heir." Her gaze turned to her own child. "But how come you are? I am the one who continues the main line – so how come you exist when I have a child?!"

Sal gulped again. He knew he had to explain it to her – and best without lying too much.

"I… I am not from this time" he finally confessed and Morgana's eyes returned to him. Again her eyebrows rose. "I… well… I am your many times grand-child, you could say" Sal finally settled with. "I came here to learn from you."

The truth – but not true enough to conclude the right things.

"When you are my many times grand-child – how come you carry Myrddin's name?" she asked now definitely interested. "Shouldn't you carry my name – or Arthur's?"

"I… My mother was the heir" Sal answered nervously. "I carry my father's name as I have no right to carry my mother's."

"You have our magic" Morgana say, narrowing her eyes. "You know our Family Magick and as such you have the right to carry our name. You needn't befoul yourself with Myrddin's name."

Sal wisely said nothing. He had foreboded that Morgana would not be pleased with his last name.

"Well, that is my problem" Sal said. "I _do not_ know Family Magick."

Morgana stared at him when he told her.

"Your mother didn't teach you?" she asked appalled and disgusted.

"She could not teach me" Sal corrected. "She died when I was a mere babe."

"Then surely your grand-mother…"

"There was a war" Sal said with a bitter note in his voice. "I am the last with magic of my line. I was since I counted one winter. I still have an aunt – but she did not inherit any magic. She cannot tell me what I need to know."

"No, she wouldn't" Morgana said. "So that's why you're here."

"Yes" Sal answered. "I needed a competent teacher to learn from, so I came here."

There was a moment of silence while Morgana was piercing through him with her eyes. It felt like a test and Sal grew nervous the longer she stared.

"And learn you will, Salvazsahar." Morgana said finally and smiled. "Come in. I will teach you. I don't want to end my family name with the Emrys line – even if I do not object your mother's choice in marriage. The Emrys line is a strong one – inserting its blood in our line is definitely a good choice."

Sal wisely forgot to mention that his Emrys-father never had married his mother. He did not want to tell Morgana that he truly was Myrddin's son. He was sure she would not like that very much…

So he just entered, fully aware, that he would have to learn all she wanted him to in the next few years – and there was no telling when she would end her training.

xXxXxXxXx

The hut was small and neatly kept. Morgana pointed at a simple wooden chair in front of the fire.

"Sit" she said while she herself sat down in a more comfortable one.

"Do you know how to read?" she asked.

"I do" Sal answered.

"So your aunt did teach you some things." Morgana said. "What about the family books – did you read them?"

"No" Sal answered. "My parents' home was destroyed. I have nothing left but an old cloak of my father's."

Morgana sighted. Sal could feel her using Legilimency on him. He let her through – not to his memories but to his feelings so that she could analyse if he was telling the truth.

"But you know basic Occlumency" she said. "Even if it is a barbaric form of it."

"My father taught me" Sal answered truthfully.

"Well, I will teach you better" Morgana said. "Forget what you father told you – I will teach you real Occlumency."

"Yes, My Lady" Sal said.

"Call me mother" Morgana said. "You may be my many times grand-son, but you are young enough to call me mother. Say, how many winters do you count?"

"Fifteen" Sal answered, using his body's winters and not his mind's. He was not sure if he liked Morgana's suggestion to call her 'mother' but he knew, he would do it anyway. She was his ancestor and because of that his elder. When she wanted to be called 'mother' then he would do it without questioning.

"So your magic has matured one time until now?" Morgana asked and Sal shrugged.

"I don't know" he said truthfully.

When he said that Morgana took out her staff and pointed it at him. Sal stiffed, but did not flinch or take out his own staff.

Morgana smiled at that. She definitely had seen his slightly concealed reaching for his staff, before he could stop himself to do so.

"You have good reflexes" she said. "Your father taught you the way of the warrior, I believe?"

"He taught me the way of the druids, mother" Sal answered. "I am no warrior, but I have to know how to fight as a druid."

"Yes you do" Morgana said and then whispered a spell.

Soft yellow light hit Sal's body. Then he started to glow green.

"Oh, that's good" Morgana said. "You did just mature one time. I will be able to teach you from the scratch – and we have time. Your second time will be not before the third winter."

"You can tell that?" Sal asked surprised. Even his father had not been able to tell that when Sal had started to mature for the first time.

"Yes" Morgana said. "And you will also be able when I have taught you all I know. There are just two conditions."

"I hear."

"You will let me adopt you" Morgana said. "As my child I will have the full rights to teach you all I want without you protesting it." Sal had thought about this possibility. Morgana knew that Medrawd would not be able to use Family Magick and she wanted to make sure that someone would be able to use it fully – even if this someone was an heir from a distant future. When he truly was her son – even an adopted one – and not just a descendant she had a better grasp at his magic. A parent simply understood their child's magic better than anyone.

"I will" he answered. He had hoped to prevent it but it was not unexpected. "Well, it will change nothing in my blood" he thought. He simply would have more access to the Family Magick… and that definitely wasn't bad at all.

"The other condition is that you will teach Medrawd how to fight when he is old enough" Morgana said.

Sal nodded, knowing that he there also had no choice – even if this might later be the cause of Arthur's demise. But even if it was – refusing would not change history. Arthur would die and when history would like Medrawd to be the cause of his demise, so it would be like that. Sal would not be able to change that when he refused.

"I will – but I am not more than mediocre in using a sword."

"As long as you teach him." Morgana said. "The rest he will learn by himself."

xXxXxXxXx

The time at Morgana's flew by quickly.

Sal soon got used to call Morgana 'mother' and under her tutelage he started to learn how to use his Family Magick. He also started to learn how to heal and also the Dark Arts.

At the beginning Sal was a little bit hesitant to learn the Dark Arts but soon he discovered, that many rituals and spells in the Dark Arts could be used differently and would help him while healing others.

Sal also discovered that he loved to heal. Before the apprenticeship Sal had just thought that knowing how to heal would be useful but the longer he learned the more he discovered that healing was something he would like to do for a living.

Morgana also noticed that he loved to heal and so she more and more included him in her own work as a healer.

It was ten years later, the day Medrawd first bested Sal in their mock-battle after just a few minutes, when Morgana finally called for Sal.

"Yes, mother?" he asked, entering the house.

"Salvazsahar LeFay" she stated. "Today is the day when your apprenticeship ends. You now know all I know and there is nothing left to teach for me."

Sal inclined his head.

"Now there is just one thing left" Morgana continued. "The Oath."

Sal knew what she meant. Every healer had to vow on their magic to help everyone in need. The healer's oath would also constrict him in his magic. No healer was allowed to kill or maim others or even simply neglect to help them when they needed help.

The vow was binding and would take his life when he neglected it.

"I am not sure I want to take it" Sal answered sincerely.

Morgana raised an eyebrow.

"I taught you healing for ten years – and now you don't want to finalize the last step in your profession?" she asked surprised.

"A healer cannot fight" Sal answered sincerely.

"And you want to fight?"

"No" Sal shook his head. "I want to protect."

He expected that Morgana would be angry with him for refusing to vow his life to the profession of the healer. What he did not expect was the gleam that entered her eyes when hearing his answer.

"So you want to protect" she stated. "Will you try to protect everyone – with no exception be it race, blood or something else?"

Sal frowned.

"Of course" he answered. "Why shouldn't I protect someone when I'm able to and he does need help?"

Now Morgana looked like a Cheshire cat.

"So you will protect those who cannot protect themselves from those who try to maim them?"

"I will" Sal answered, still frowning and now utterly confused.

"And you will use all your skills to aid whoever needs help?"

"Of course I will…"

"Even if you will have to aid your enemy?"

"Yes…"

"Even if you will have to kill someone or let someone die to ensure the safety of others?"

Sal blinked at that. _Let someone die?!_

"Yes…" he said unsure.

"Even if it will bring you harm?"

"Yes." This time he was sure.

"Then I bless you child. You are a Healer, you are a Warrior, _you_ are a guardian. You have finished your apprenticeship and you have chosen your path. May you heal others, may you judge their hearts. May you guide others, may you protect them from harm. Today, I name you a Guardian Healer – born to protect, born to judge, born to heal. So be it."

A golden mist suddenly surrounded Salvazsahar and a rune-circle was seen above his head. Sal had never seen this circle before. It was the typical healer rune-circle in the middle, but it was surrounded by a different, foreign one.

Before Sal could decipher it, it glowed as bright as the sun, broke apart into sparks and entered his body.

Warmth filled his entire being and then it stopped and all was back to normal.

"What…?" he started to ask, but Morgana beat him to it.

"A healer's oath" she answered. "But not the normal one. This one will let you protect and kill – there will be no consequences. You even can let someone die if this person has harmed others with his action or will harm others when he continues his actions."

"So… there is nothing different then before?" Sal asked confused.

"Oh, there is" Morgana answered. "Others have to come first now. You cannot do anything when you encounter a conflict. You have to aid those who need protection. You cannot aid the others, and you cannot aid evil. When you do, you will lose your magic and maybe even your life."

"So you tricked me in an oath" Sal said.

"I know you, Salvazsahar." Morgana said shrugging. "You would have done it anyway. You are born to protect – that you have my eyes while having also Arthur Pendragon's blood shows it. You will not feel bound at all, because of the oath."

Sal sighted, but he could not object. Even without the oath he would have helped those who needed help and were too weak to aid themselves.

"But why did you trick me into it?"

"It is an oath you have to give while not being aware of it" Morgana said. "And even if you give it, there are few in this world whose oath would have been accepted by magic. A Guardian Healer is special. There are maybe two or three in this world. I guessed that you would be one five years ago, and I am proud that I was right. Having someone like you in our family definitely shows our superior power."

Sal could just roll his eyes at that.

Trust Morgana to be excited to have a rare… creature?!... like Sal in the family. There would be no other person in the world who would be concerned about family prestige some thousand years in the future…

"I am proud of you, Salvazsahar" Morgana said. "I trust, you will return home now?"

Sal stared at her for a moment, then he nodded.

"I will" he answered.

And he truly would have, if he wouldn't have stumbled over a battle while he was on the way back to Camelot. As it was, Sal would return home eight years later than planned…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	14. Chapter 13: Trial Time

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP. _

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Trial Time**

sss

The rest of the time until his trial Harry had cleansed rooms with all the others and after Kreature had told him two days later at night that he had cleaned a little, unused room and Harry had started to draw the necessary runes, circles and pentagrams on the floor and on the walls, that he needed for his first task.

When the twelfth of August approached, he finally had finalized the drawing and despite being a little sleepy he was fully prepared for the Ministry hearing. Of course, no-one else knew.

They all relayed on Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore was there last night, he will come" Molly Weasley had told him and Harry had well-behaved nodded and not shown his feelings about Dumbledore, the almighty.

Instead he had followed Arthur to the Ministry, and was finally informed about the changed time – a fact that let him grin inside.

The Ministry really tried to help him with all its abilities…

Finally he was brought to the courtroom – Harry grinned much more inside when he heard he would have a full trial – and left there.

So he stood there, in front of them, looking around in Myrddin's court.

_The walls were made of dark stone, dimly lit by torches. Empty benches rose on either side of him, but ahead, in the highest benches of all, were many shadowy figures. They had been talking in low voices, but as the heavy door swung closed behind Harry an ominous silence fell._

_A cold male voice rang across the courtroom._

"_You're late."_

Harry turned and looked at the speaker.

"I did not get a notice that the time was changed" Harry answered, crooking his head. "I also got no notice that the place was changed."

The wizards and witches of the Wizengamot looked at each other and murmured.

"We have been sending you an owl with the new time and place today" Fudge said coolly.

"You might" Harry answered. "The point is I did not get it – so how am I supposed to be on time without knowing it was changed?"

"We should not discuss that now" a witch beside Fudge said sweetly and Harry had the unproved feeling that she had something to do with his missing message. He said nothing and filled it away for later. This just would make it easier for him…

"_Very well" said Fudge. "The accused being present – finally – let us begin. Are you ready?" he called down the row._

"_Yes, sir" _Percy. Harry had thought as much. He did not even bother to look at the treacherous Weasley- brother.

"_Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August" said Fudge in a ringing voice, and Percy began taking notes at once, "into offences committed under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Stature of Secrecy by Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey._

"_Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister of Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley – "_

"_Witness for the defe –"_

"You don't have to, Headmaster", Harry interrupted the entering old man midsentence. "I am fully capable of defending myself."

Dumbledore stopped mid-step and starred at the boy in front of him.

"Harry, my boy, this is the Wizengamot…" he began, but Harry interrupted him again.

"That's alright, Headmaster. I am fully aware where I am. I can handle myself" with that he turned to the minister and said in a non-saying voice. "Please continue, Minister Fudge."

_The members of the Wizengamot were muttering. All eyes were now on Dumbledore_ and Harry. _Some of them looked annoyed, others slightly frightened; _but the most of them looked utterly flabbergasted. Harry guessed that the most of them had thought he would hide behind Dumbledore's robes. But Harry was not a child anymore. So, while the originally Harry maybe would have let Dumbledore manage his affairs, the current Harry was not willing to give the headmaster any power in his life.

"Minister Fudge? Minister Fudge, would you please continue, sir?"

Silence for another minute.

"Yes." Fudge finally said, still starring at Harry and Dumbledore who looked slightly undecided at his young charge. Finally he just flicked his wand and sat down on the squishy armchair that appeared out of nowhere.

Harry ignored him.

"_Yes" said Fudge again, shuffling his notes. "Well, then. So. The charges. Yes."_

_He extricated a piece of parchment from the pile before him, took a deep breath, and read out, "The charges against the accused are as follows:_

"_That he did knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy._

"_You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge said, glaring at Harry over the top of his parchment._

"Today I am", Harry answered pleasantly, knowing that the Chamber would show-cast it if he lied.

"Today?" Fudge asked, slightly annoyed with Harry's answer.

"I might change my name tomorrow" The boy replied, shrugging. "Or I might find out my parents gave me another name altogether."

At this, Fudge starred unbelievingly at Harry, then he shook his head and continued.

"_You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago, did you not?"_

"I might" The boy replied.

"This is a yes or no question! Answer clearly." Fudge scowled.

"Then: for you, _yes. _It might have been three years."

"_And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" said Fudge._

"_Yes." _The boy answered clearly, one eyebrow slightly up his forehead.

"_Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic out of school while you are under the age of seventeen?"_

"_Yes…"_

"_Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles?"_

"Of course I knew…"

"_Fully aware that you were in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?"_

"My cousin, Sir…"

This time the witch with the monocle spoke up.

"_You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?"_

Harry sighted. He had known, this question would come up. He himself might not truly be fifteen but the original Harry had been, so it was natural for these wizard and witches to question his ability to produce a Patronus.

"Yes, it is corporal." He answered coolly, "It is corporal since third year."

"_Impressive" said Madam Bones, staring down at him, "a true Patronus at his age… very impressive indeed."_

Harry decided to stay silence. It would do no good when he told them, that a Patronus was nothing. He could kill them all without even leaving a trace and without them knowing what was coming – even if they would look the whole time it took him to kill them directly in his eyes. Impressive – indeed.

"_It's not a question of how impressive the magic was" said Fudge in a testy voice, "in fact, the more impressive the worse it is, I would have thought, given that the boy did it in plain few of a Muggle! _Think about it! We can't let such behaviour unpunished. He broke the law – without even regretting it! When we let him roam, we can't know what he will do next!"

_Those who had been frowning now murmured in agreement, _but the boy in front of them seemed to be fully untouched by the accusation.

This time Dumbledore instead seemed to be unable to hold back. He stood, ready to defend Harry, if the boy wanted it or not.

But just when he sprang to his feet, the young boy in front of the Wizengamot spoke in a low, cold voice.

"Now, minister, tell me, what you are playing at?" The boy said and Headmaster Dumbledore, ready to defend the young boy, stopped in the middle of opening his mouth.

"What are you implying, boy?!" Fudge hissed, but his voice showed, that he was slightly taken aback by the emotionless voice of the teen. Cold, Avada Kedavra-green eyes pierced him, judged him and found him unworthy.

"I am implying several serious disregards of your own laws" The boy said emotionless and a whisper emerged in the crowd. Fudge turned his head from left to right, trying to stand still and being impressive. He failed.

Words run through the crowd. "Broken law? We?" He heard. "When?"

xXxXx

"Disregarding of the laws, Mr Potter?" A regal looking Lady finally asked aloud. "Pray tell what are you talking about?"

"About several things, Madam, several broken laws specifically" The boy replied, and when one of the Wizengamot wizards opened his mouth, he overrode his attempt to speak mercilessly.

"Let's start with an easy example: When I used the Patronus Charm to defend my cousin, I got a letter that I was expelled from Hogwarts. That was the first breaking of your laws. No-one except of the headmaster can expel a student from Hogwarts. Trying to do it without consulting the headmaster at first, ends in losing all the reminding control you have in school. Hogwarts has the right to take back the offending persons OWLS and NEWTS when said person just attempted such a crime."

"Is that so, lad?" Another, very old looking wizard asked coolly. "And pray tell, where do you think you read such an offending peace of text?!"

"In your law book, my Lord" The boy answered simply. "This is one of your own laws I have been quoting."

"Have you?" Another Lord asked sceptically. "I don't think that anyone of the ministry would ever be for a law like that."

"Well, they weren't" The boy in front of them answered and then send a steady glance across the crowd.

"This is law since 978 when Hogwarts started to open for all students in Great Britain. At that time there was no ministry. It were the Lords of the ancient and noble Houses who at that time were setting up the law. Some of their laws are still in use – like the one I mentioned."

"Is that so?" The first Lord asked interested. "So you really _are able_ prove it."

The answer of the accused was not a 'yes' or 'no'. Instead he intoned.

"_By the rights of the Lords Slytherin and Gryffindor and the Ladies Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, the school of witchcraft and wizardry, known as the respectable and noble school of Haugh's Wards, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, located in the Highlands of Scotland, next to the hamlet of Hogsmeade, is hereby declared as independent from the Lordships and states, so that in times of war it will be a neutral zone. _

"_It hereby will be declared that Haugh's Wards, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will never be part of any legal constitution. The rights and rules of Haugh's Wards will solely be constructed and upheld by the Headmaster, Teachers, Founders and acknowledged Heirs of Haugh's Wards. Any interference from legal constitution may be punished severely. The right of punishment for interference will be by the school. By severely interference such as expelling student, the person who interfered will be held responsible and might lose their right to bear a staff because of deprivation of his school examinations. _

"_In contrast the school will have to take in all children of magical heritage from their eleventh until their seventeenth birthday and teach them to be respectable and noble wizards and witches. _That is the law from 978, stated in the law book as Paragraph 20 A-E."

Fudge snorted unbelieving. "And pray tell, how would a mere boy like you know something like that?!"

"I can read, Minister" the boy answered and pierced the man in front of him with his eyes. "Look it up for yourself, when you don't believe me."

The answer was shuffling of paper when Percy Weasley searched for his copy of the law book. When he found it, he started thumbing through it, until he reached the named paragraph and starred at it.

"Well, Weatherby?" Fudge asked, clearly expecting the boy in front of him to be proven wrong.

"He… he is right, minister." Percy stuttered, still starring at the - for him offending - text in front of him.The boy continued and his glare got as cold as ice.

"The next broken law is that no-one came to Privet Drive to investigate. Since April 1146 there is a law to investigate before taking charges. Paragraph 38 A-G. This law was established after there where incidents of wrongfully imprisoned persons because of lacking investigations. The Gathering of the Lords found this absolutely unacceptable and established a rule of handling the broken secret-status and performing magic in front of mundane people. The law was never altered after that. So that would be the second broken law in a row. The third was preventing the accused getting a legal backer for court. Instead I am standing in front of you without anyone." Now the wizards and witches of Wizengamot shared uneasy glances.

"You… you had Dumbledore… but you turned him down!" Fudge cried, still staring at the uncanny teen.

"He is not, nor will he ever be a legal backer. He might be my headmaster at school but he has no training in legal rights. So even if he would back me up, he would still be another civilian, who does not know all the Paragraphs of the law." The boy replied coolly.

"You could have asked someone…"

"When? You changed the place of the hearing today. Formally it had been an unofficial hearing – where I wouldn't have needed a legal backer. But now it is a trial. A legal backer needs time to know the facts – also, I am a minor. I am legally not allowed to search legal backup without my guardian. My aunt is mundane – she has no access to a magical lawyer. And I had no time to contact her and asked for legal backup. As the court, you have had a duty to see to my needs when you force me to go to court without time to contact a legal backer.

"This might be a newer law of the 19th century but it is still law. As it is established in paragraph 95 A: _Every person accused of a crime has the right to send for legal back-up in court. The legal back-up might be self-provided or in case it is impossible for the accused to get one, there has to be a chance to be provided of a lawyer by the Wizengamot. _Well, I had no time to brief a lawyer with my situation – also counting the change of time and place so that it would have been difficult for my legal back-up to arrive in time – yet there is no alternative to go to." The boy continued.

"Because of breaking these laws, I have no-one who would speak for my behalf. I am accused but unable to defend myself because of your lack of following your own laws. You did not investigate. There is no recording of the scene of crime. There is no asking for witnesses. There isn't even a simple use of truth-serum to investigate if I lie or if I am telling the truth.

"So. How will you be able to judge me, when you have no witnesses except the evidence that I used magic in front of my mundane-cousin?! How will you judge if my use of magic was rightfully if there is no other evidence except of your recording?"

"There is no need of a witness except of our recording. You broke the law, you will pay for it!" Fudge intercepted at that moment.

"I did, didn't I? Or is there a possibility that I didn't break the law?" The boy said and his killing curse eyes were blasting.

"You are underage! You are not allowed to use magic in your holidays! And no-one is allowed to use magic in front of a Muggle!" The minister spluttered. "As long as I am the minister, you will be punished for your crime! Even if you're celebrity I will not let this stop me to follow the law!"

"To follow the law?" The boy starred at the minister, as if said person had said something absolutely stupid. "Which law, Minster Fudge?_ Clause Seven of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery states that magic may be used in front of a Muggle in exceptional circumstances, and as those exceptional circumstances include situations which threaten the life of the wizard or witch him- or herself, or any witches, wizards or Muggles present at the time of the -"_

"_We are familiar with Clause Seven, _boy,_ thank you very much!" snarled Fudge. _

"_Of course you are" _Harry answered courteously. "So why have you done nothing to exclude this Clause. There might have been Dementors in Little Whinging, for all you know."

"There were no Dementors!" Fudge spluttered.

"Evidence, Minister, evidence." The boy said coolly. "You have not sent your people to investigate the scene of crime – like you should have – and now you come and say that 'there were no Dementors'. But you yourself can't prove it. So how come that you think, that you are right?"

Fudge stared at the boy in front of him with hatred in his eyes.

"You…" He started, but was interrupted by Madam Bones.

"The accused has a point, Minister" she said. "How _do_ we know, he had not have to defend himself?"

"The Dementors are under the control of the Ministry. There is no way that a Dementor would come to Little Whinging! The boy just tries to escape his punishment. As an underage wizard he has to follow the rules like everyone else – no celebrity status here!"

"Underage?" The boy questioned in this moment. "That is also something I am laughing about. This is also a law, you have been breaking."

"What are you talking about now, boy?" Fudge hissed, losing his cool. But there was fear in his eyes. Harry knew what the Minister feared. He feared that Harry knew about his Lordship – and the freedom that could come with it when he had turned fifteen…

But Harry said nothing. He definitely would not play_ that _card if he did not have to do it…

"Think about it! I'm fifteen, minister. As you told the court – I am not an adult. But whatever you are telling the Court, you yourself seem to forget that pretty often!" Harry argued instead.

"What do you mean by that, by Merlin?!" Fudge roared, staring at Harry as if he had gone crazy. Maybe Harry had…

"As a minor, I don't just have duties, Fudge – I also have rights. You seem content to forget these every time I am in a situation I do need those rights."

"I am fully aware about your rights, boy!" Fudge cried.

"Are you? In front of the whole court, do you declare you are aware of my rights?"

"Of course I am!"

_It maybe would go without…_

"And the Headmaster – is he also aware of my rights?"

"What has this to do with anything, boy?!" Fudge growled.

"Just let the Headmaster answer my question" Harry said shrugging.

Dumbledore looked at him with confusion.

"Of course I am aware of your rights, Harry" He said finally softly. "You know that this discussion will bring you nowhere…"

_It really_ would _go without…!_

Harry ignored him, instead he looked at the rest of the Wizengamot.

"What's with you, Ladies and Gentlemen? Are you aware of the rights of a minor?"

xXxXx

Amelia Bones had witnessed the whole spectacle until now. Now, addressed as a part of the Wizengamot she felt obliged to answer with a "Yes". Of course she was aware of his status – she was the Head of the Law Department, she had to be aware. She just didn't know what use it had for the boy if they were aware…

She stared at the young boy in front of them, looked at his cool Avada Kedavra-green eyes and saw the determination in them.

And suddenly she could piece the pieces of the puzzle together.

Oh this uncannily cunning little boy!

He was playing them like pipes!

xXxXx

"So you are all aware of my rights. All three. The Minister, the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW and Chief Warlock and the Wizengamot" Harry said triumphantly, but then stopped. His expression of triumph fainted to nothing except of cool calculation.

"Then you know that there is a creative precedent from 1753." He continued with less triumph in his voice.

"Thomas Avery, orphan and last of the House Avery at that time, was permitted the rights of an emancipated wizard after he had been treated like that by more than one law-institution. In his case it had been the Minister, the Head of the Magical Law Department and the Head of the Aurors. This creative precedent was established as Paragraph 261C in the law book."

Fudge glanced at Percy Weasley. Said secretary was thumbing through the law book in front of him until he found the paragraph.

"There is in fact a creative precedent from 1753, minister" Percy finally confirmed, while starring absolutely stunned at the text in front of him.

"Well, now after you have your proof, minister, let's continue." The boy in front of them said. "Last year I have been participating in the Tri-wizard-tournament, a tournament solely for wizards beyond their seventeenth year of life. I participated and I was able to compete with the other, seventeen year old participants.

"So, as this Tournament is solely for adult wizards, a guardian on my behalf had to enter me in this Tournament. My guardian, as I am aware of, is my aunt. She did not enter me or permit me to enter. In school, you could say, it is the Headmaster who is my guardian – and he permitted it. But seeing, that the Tournament is solely for adults he also recognized and therefore treated me like an adult.

"So he knowingly ignored my rights as a minor and forced me to participate in something a minor had no right to be in."

"Even if he did – this has nothing to do with your case!" Fudge spluttered. Amelia Bones snorted at this.

"But it does, Minister" the boy answered. "It is an essential part in this trial."

"And pray tell, how should your participation in the Tri-Wizard-Tournament have any meaning in your case?" Fudge growled and Amelia Bones knew the boy had him. There was no escaping now.

"Simple" the boy answered. "He started what you finished. He treated me like an adult like you are doing now. I asked you if you are aware of the rights of a minor. I asked the Headmaster and the Wizengamot the same. You all answered the positive – and still are breaking this rights without even to hesitate when it comes to me.

So basically, you both – and with you the Wizengamot agree that I am no child!"

xXxXx

"Now, see here, boy!" Fudge grumbled. "I did no such a thing. So there is no way…"

"You did not?" The boy intercepted. "But you suggesting, that you did!"

"How dare you to state such a lie!"

"But it isn't a lie, Minister", the boy answered emotionless, "Paragraph 40 E states that '_only an adult is to be tried in front of the whole Wizengamot._' And here we are. Me as the accused and you – you who are trying me with the _whole court_! A simple case of underage magic is never tried with the whole Wizengamot, so why, when I'm not an adult yet, is this different for me than for the others?"

This question roused another ruckus in the audience. Fudge opened his mouth just to close it again. His eyes seemed to budge out of their holes.

Harry stared back at him, his death-eyes fixed on him.

"I still wait for an answer to that question, Minister." He said coolly. But Fudge stayed still, still staring at Harry as if he saw him for the first time.

Finally Madam Bones took petty on the flabbergasted man and spoke up herself. She had understood a while ago that the boy would take this route – she just didn't know _why_...

"That is a good question, young man" she said. "Still, even if you are today treated like an adult in front of the law – what use is this for you? You still have performed a Patronus in front of a Muggle."

"It is simple, Madam Bones", the boy answered her. "When I am treated like an adult I am allowed to give you my memory of the event. Then you would be able to see the facts behind my spell. Memories can't be forged without seeing the change, and displayed in the Courtroom of the Wizengamot they can be freely seen by everyone."

When the boy answered this question, Madam Bones hesitated for a moment, then she nodded.

"Do it. The Minister has been treating you like an adult, so why not looking at your memories. Do you know how to extract memories?" she asked.

"Of course" The boy replied with an experienced tone. Something Amelia Bones never had expected from a boy of fifteen years.

The boy extracted a memory from his mind and stood up. Without hesitation or the need of instructions he stepped forward to a deepening in the floor. In it he dropped the memory.

Then he nodded to Madam Bones and returned to his seat.

"Show" Madam Bones instructed and suddenly the whole wall behind the boy lit up and built a visible scene.

The first, that they could see, was absolute darkness. Then a memory of coldness began to creep into the courtroom and not just a few of the wizards and witches shivered.

Dementor-cold.

Then you could hear the breathing, the rasping and rattling breathes. A human cry could be heard in the darkness, the panic in the voice filled the air.

"_DUDLEY; KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO; KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!"_ Then there was a muttering and a short light where the wand lay. The boy in the memory clasped the wand.

A panicked _"Expecto Patronum" _Just white fog, bright enough to show the Dementor creeping near the boy. Then it hit the Dementor and broke. Again an _"Expecto Patronum_" and again just fog, the Dementor now just a few inches away from the boy, its hand reached for the boy. Blackness again.

Shuffling, running steps in the darkness.

And then a loud "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _A phoenix erupted from the wand of the boy, now a few feet away from the Dementor. The phoenix golden light filled the alleyway and showed another Dementor, clasping another boys wrists and wrestling with him. The boy was losing. And then the phoenix took over, drove away the Dementors with so much force, that the Dementors seemed to be harmed by the creature.

The memory ended and the whole court fell silent.

"Dementors", Madam Bones finally said. "Dementors in a Muggle suburb."

"That… that can't be real!" Fudge cried. "It is a lie! Mr. Potter is using forged…"

"You know as well as I that a memory can't be forged without everyone recognizing it, Minister Fudge!" Madam Bones interrupted him. "The young man has been telling the truth to this court! And don't forget: he showed us what happened. He did not just tell us – he showed us! How can you argue against that?!"

"But… but…" Fudge stuttered.

"I would be quiet, if I were you, Minister" Madam Bones interrupted. "I am not happy with you! You took this Underage Magic incident in front of the whole Wizengamot-"

"The boy had broken the law the third time! He blew up his aunt last year and the year before he used a hovering charm!"

"Did he?" Madam Bones turned around to the lad in front of her.

"I did blow up my aunt", the boy answered without hesitation. "It was accidental magic."

"Accidental?"

"I did not use a wand or a spell. I just… blew her up…" The boy filled the Wizengamot in. "This is not court-able. Paragraph D of the Decree for Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery states that accidental magic of a minor before his second maturity, done without a wand and without the intent to do it, is not punishable because the minor has still to learn how to fully control his or her magic."

At this Madam Bones smiled. "You are right, Mr. Potter." She confirmed. "But there is still the incident with the hovering charm."

"I can show you the incident." The boy answered without hesitation.

"I think, this time it will be enough to just tell us."

"Well… but it sounds not… well… believable."

"Just tell. When we need to see it, you can show us afterward."

"I just warned", the boy answered. "It was a crazy house-elf."

"A house-elf?!" The witch beside Fudge snorted, "And pray tell, how did a house-elf get…"

The boy's eyes got deadly.

"I told you it is unbelievable. But when you want to, I will show you the incident…"

"I don't think, that that is necessary", Madam Bones interrupted while staring the Minister and the witch next to him – Dolores Umbridge – down. "I believe you – and even if I didn't, it was just one incident, nothing to be punished for."

"But…" Fudge started.

"You, Minister, should think about what you are saying." Madam Bones interrupted again. "Alone in this sole case you have ignored several laws, the most of them in place to have a fair trial for the accused! I will see to this when we end this case. But now: finish! And I warn you, if you even try to stall a bit I will look through all your doings in the last few years. Even if I find nothing – you wouldn't see your office for the next five month! So, do you have to say anything else?"

"No" This time, Fudge sounded bitter.

"Well then onto the charges." Madam Bones said. "_Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?"_

More than eighty percent of the Wizengamot raised their hands.

"_And those in favour of conviction?"_

This time it was just Fudge, the witch beside him and a few others. Harry scrutinized them, until the most of them turned their eyes away. He would have to remember them later. They were either in Fudges pocket or Death Eaters.

So simplified: They were both enemies.

_Fudge glanced around at them all, looking as though there was something large suck in his throat, then he lowered his own hand. He took two deep breaths and said, in a voice distorted by suppressed rage, "Very well, very well… cleared of all charges."_

Harry smiled at that.

"Thank you, Minister" He said pleasantly. "Until the next time. I would advise you to pray that we will never see each other again, but I know, this will never be the case. We will see each other again – and next time, it will be less pleasant for you."

With that he stood and left the room, nodding at the rest of the Wizengamot and his headmaster.

But his face stayed carefully blank until he reached the floor outside the courtroom. Then a creepy smiled spread over his features. "Harryjames – one. The Wizengamot and the Headmaster – zero."

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it for today. I hope you liked it._


	15. Chapter 14: Horror-crux Night

_**Disclaimer:**__ not mine. All Rowling's._

_**Information: **__all in italic is from Rowling's OotP._

**xxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxx**

**Horror-crux Night**

sss

When Harry left the room, Albus could do nothing but stare at the vanishing form of the boy he had deemed the saviour.

_Something was wrong with the boy._

Albus had never seen Harry act like that before. Of course, it had been some time – some months – since he had seen the boy the last time. The last time…

The last time he had seen Harry, the boy had just won the Triwizard Tournament and his first battle against a reborn Dark Lord.

Since then Albus Dumbledore had been nervous to meet the boy again. Albus of course knew about the Horcrux in Harry's scar and he feared that Harry would be influenced by it, now that Voldemort had returned…

The trial today just aided to Albus' believes.

_How?! _

_How had the boy managed to get off without his help?!_

_How had the boy known all this?!_

Albus had brought the boy to Petunia and stopped every contact the boy could have to the wizarding world so that the boy would not be raised in the traditional ways of the pure-bloods – and now the boy suddenly was acting as if he had been raised like a pure-blood all along…!

This was not something Albus had wanted or even imagined.

He had wanted Harry to be raised like a Muggle or Muggle-born. He had thought that when the saviour of the wizarding world would act like a Muggle-born that the rest of the pure-blood would see the error of their ways. Albus had hoped that the pure-blood would finally stop clinging to customs that were long out-dated – instead Harry suddenly seemed to know a lot more about the law and custom of the wizarding world then he should have.

_But how…?!_

_Had he researched it with his friends?_ Albus would not be happy if he had, but he would understand that.

_Or had it been Voldemort's influence…?!_

Albus tried to shrug of his concern, but he couldn't.

The cold voice, the emotionless face, the cool intelligence – _Voldemort_.

The charming behaviour, the cunning mind, the perfect manners – _Voldemort._

The knowledge about everything he needed to know, the ability to sway the crowd, the ability to induct fear, loyalty and awe – _Voldemort._

The boy had acted so much – maybe too much?! – like a charismatic and young Tom Riddle… _Voldemort in all his former glory._

Albus shuddered and prayed that he was wrong. He prayed that someone at Grimauld Place had broken their promise to him and had the boy taught how to act and what to state – because if they hadn't there was a great chance that the connection between the Horcrux and Harry was starting to get stronger than Albus had predicted…

There was just one consultation for Albus: the boy still did not know about the rule of emancipation. As long as the boy did not claim his lordship he would stay a minor and was as such still under the guidance of Albus Dumbledore. Maybe Albus could do something to rescue the boy if he truly had given in to the Horcrux in his head…

_If_ it was the Horcrux that let him act the way he did…

"Tonight" he decided. "I will speak to the members of the Order of tge Phoenix tonight. Maybe one of them has done or seen something that explains Harry's behaviour today…"

And if they hadn't… well, Albus would go there later when he had to…

xXxXxXx

When Harry left the room, Fudge was fuming.

_How…?!_

_How had the boy been able to get of the hook like that?!_

_How had the boy swayed the Wizengamot?!_

Fudge had been sure that he would be able to capture the boy with that spell. He needed the boy to be captured by it! He feared that the public would follow the boy. He feared that the boy was telling the truth and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really had returned. The Potters were an important, powerfull family. They had a large political cloud and until now the boy had done nothing to jeopardise it.

Of course, the articles about the boy last year had not been supporting the boy – but they had not been scandalous enough to slander the boy also. And the boy _had_ won the Triwizard Tournament with fourteen years of age and the boy _had_ killed a dark lord when he was a baby…

Every negative press was fading away when you looked at the accomplishments of the boy – and even the articles that were printed the last few month about the boy's insanity in the _Daily Prophet _did not really jeopardise the political cloud the boy had.

A political cloud that came from the Potter family, the deeds of James and Lily Potter and the deeds the boy had done in his short life. The killing of You-Know-Who, the winning of the Triwizard Tournament, the rumours about facing a Professor when he tried to steal the Philosopher's stone and the rumour about ridding the school of Salazar Slytherin's monster…

Even if the last two were just rumours – the power the boy had shown by killing a dark lord as an infant and winning the Triwizard Tournament was enough to endear him to many. The boy just had to come to the Wizengamot session in January when the new lords would be introduced and he would have enough power to threaten even Fudge's position as the Minister of Magic. The boy himself might be too young to be the Minister of Magic – but with his influence and power he would be able to aid Albus Dumbledore in his quest to be the new Minister and he would win. Fudge would be unable to hold his seat against two slayers of dark lords…

But Fudge would not give up his position without a fight.

He had worked for this position. He had lived for this position.

He would not simply step aside.

There was just one thing h could do…

"_Daily Prophet_" he announced while stepping in the flames of his floo-fire. He would visit the _Daily Prophet _to ensure that the boy's reputation would finally be tarnished…

xXxXxXx

When Amelia Bones finally returned to her office, she hoped for a quiet evening. The trial today had been energy-sapping. She really didn't know how she felt at the moment – but she was quiet sure that Fudge was definitely not her favoured person today.

First he had stopped Mafalda Hopkirk from doing her duty by bringing the Potter-heir in front of the Wizengamot and then he had butchered up the whole trial by disregarding the laws he had sworn to follow – and the Potter-heir had known it all along.

Amelia was quiet sure that the Potter-heir had played them the whole time they were in court.

"And I thought the boy was a Gryffindor" she mused, thinking about the things her niece had told her when she asked her about Harry Potter. At that time it had been mere curiosity that had Amelia driven to find her answers – now she was spiked with longing to know about the boy.

"When the boy really is a Gryffindor, then he might have had aid" Amelia thought and sat down in the chair behind her desk. "There is no way a Gryffindor would be able to come up with something like that…"

Except the Gryffindor was a snake in a lion's fur all along…

Again Amelia repeated the morning in her head.

The boy_ had_ played them – but he had done it with the truth as he knew it, a feat that not even Lucius Mafoy would have easily pulled of…

Amelia sighed and buried her head in her hands – just to stop and stare at a piece of parchment that was lying innocently on her table.

sSs

_Do you want to be responsible for another innocent's fake-trial? There aren't just innocent Potters out there – after all, there is a Black on the loose. _

_Sometimes you have to look a second time. _

_And sometimes you have to be a Slytherin to get justice._

_RAB_

sSs

She blinked, but the parchment did not vanish under her unbelieving eyes.

_Another innocent?_

_A Black on the loose?_

_Slytherin?!_

"It's definitely not my day" Amelia finally decided and tucked the piece of parchment in her desk. She had no desire to think about anything like that riddle in front of her at the moment.

"It can wait until tomorrow" she said to herself. "I finish early today."

And with that she left the office, not knowing that the piece of parchment would make a lot of more sense to her in the future. Even if it would take her some time to understand this twisted message at all…

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was night at Grimauld Place No 12. And while the children had been send to bed some time ago, the adults weren't sleeping.

Instead more and more people entered silently the house and went to the crammed kitchen. The last one was Albus Dumbledore. He closed and locked the door behind himself before setting some wards that prevented spying.

"So, tell us, Albus – how was the trial?" Molly Weasley asked. "The boy said he was cleared of all charges but he did not tell us more."

"Yes. I also want to know" Moody said grumpily. "Was your influence enough to let the boy of the hook?"

Albus Dumbledore himself sighted. He was not sure how to tell the people in front of him that the boy had somehow managed to be cleared by himself. By Merlin, Albus himself wasn't even sure how the boy had managed to play the whole Wizengamot until they had to let him go because of the evidence his memory provided.

_The boy was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! How the hell had he managed a Slytherin approach like that?!_

"It did not go like I planed" he finally said sighting. Moody and the others looked at him.

"So it was just luck that the boy was cleared?" Moody asked. "They did not accept the witness Arabella was giving?"

"No" Albus answered, shaking his head. "I never asked Arabella to enter."

"So how…?" this time it was Arthur Weasley that asked the question.

"I was not allowed to be the witness for the defence." Albus answered tiredly.

"Fudge prevented it?!" this time a lot of voices asked the same question.

"No, Harry did" Albus answered.

"Why?!" the voices asked – all except one. Sirius Black was sitting on his chair, laughing.

"_He_ did stop you when you tried to rescue him – and he got of himself?! That is hilarious!" the Animagus laughed barking. "Absolutely hilarious!"

Albus threw a sharp look at the laughing younger man before he answered.

"I do not know myself" he said. "But he prevented me from interfering and after that simply… crushed… the Minister with his own laws…"

The others blinked.

"He used the laws to defend himself?" Moody verified.

"Yes" Albus answered. "And some of them were laws I never heard before. He wasn't even a little bit afraid when he was standing in front of them – and finally he tricked them so that he was able to show them his memory."

"He knew about the possibility to do that?" Moody asked astonished.

"He did. And he used it to its fullest." Albus answered seriously. "What did he do while he was here?"

The Weasleys and Sirius looked at each other.

"He cleaned with us" Molly finally stated. "And when he did not clean he was with Ron and Hermione. Once I saw him in the library doing his homework… why?"

Albus sighted. He had hoped that Molly and the others had seen Harry while he planed the trick he had pulled in the Ministry but they hadn't.

He even wished that anyone would have helped Harry to do what he had done – because when they hadn't he was not sure how Harry had done it. And that was a terrifying thought. What, when Voldemort had helped him?! Was the link between these two open enough so that Harry could access the things Voldemort knew?!

"I just wondered when he had time to prepare for the trial." He finally answered Molly. Moody looked at him sharply but said nothing until the meeting ended and the other ones had left to go home or to go to bed.

"You fear something, Albus" Moody said, still looking at him intensively. "What do you fear?"

Albus sighted, then decided to give away a little bit of his information.

"The boy has a link to Voldemort" he said whispering.

"And you fear he was able to get of because he had the information the Dark Lord provided" Moody concluded.

"Yes."

"I will look out for the boy" Moody said. "When he really access the mind of the Dark Lord we will know it."

"Thank you my friend."

And with that both of them also left, not seeing the tiny figure that popped in the kitchen and loosened a tiny Muggle-recorder from beneath the table.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

While the Order of the Phoenix held their meeting in the kitchen, in another, unused room of the house two other people were still awake.

The room was empty and small. Once it maybe had been a room for cleaning supplies and other things you don't use in daily routine. Now it was used for something entire different.

The runes, hieroglyphs, pentagrams and circles painted on the walls, ceiling and floor of the room implied the new use of the room. It had been changed to a ritual chamber.

And in the middle of this ritual chamber two objects were lying on the floor.

"Stand aside, Reg" a voice whispered and Regulus Black who had placed the objects in the middle-circle went to another circle painted on the floor right behind the door.

"Let's begin" the voice whispered again. And suddenly runes out of blue fire were drawn in the air. A moment later they vanished and with them the little noise from outside you could hear vanished also.

And then the chanting began.

Regulus himself watched from his secured place at the outer side of the ritualistic circle. He had seen this scene before but he still was unable to look away.

The first time he had seen it was ten years ago when the man in front of him had vanished the first Horcrux they had found. At that time he had known nearly nothing about the man. He had had woken up just a few weeks before that time after a magical coma of six years.

He had known nothing except that the man had rescued him back in 1979 from dying. And after that had looked after him until the potion in his system finally had worn of and he was able to wake up again.

He stared at the other one – ten years back it had been a man, now it was a boy – saw him drawing runes with the glowing staff in his hands. Then the green eyes of the other suddenly lightened up in unearthly light. They glowed as if filled with little, green suns, their gaze shone on the objects he was destroying.

Regulus never had seen a wizard using techniques like that. The air felt heavy and foreign. The magic flowing from the runes felt sweeter and earthy and absolutely different then the magic Reg was used to.

The first time the boy had vanished a Horcrux Regulus had been absolutely awestricken. And even now…

He could not look away, even when the light the runes and lines began to glow in started to hurt his eyes. Unearthly – that was the only description he was able to.

And then the chanting in a language Regulus could not place stopped and a soft hissing sound penetrated the silence.

Suddenly a black fog erupted from the two objects in the middle of the circle. The fog tried to take on a different shape, but white glowing light hindered the forming.

Again a chanting was heard. This time filled with soft hisses and words that sounded like Arabian.

The purifying.

The first time Regulus had seen it, he was not sure if the man in front of him tried not to invoke more evil as already was there. This time he knew it wasn't like that.

In that moment black and green fire erupted from the objects and reached for the black fog. A high pitched shriek could be heard when the fire began to consume the fog. Then the fog vanished in the flames.

It took another moment and then the unnatural fire also vanished, leaving behind the untainted Hufflepuff cup and Slytherin locket.

The boy sighted and disabled the runes and the runic circle.

Then he simply fell to his knees, totally spend.

Regulus left his corner to hurry to the boy's side.

"Are you okay?" he asked the boy.

"I am. Just tired. Help me to bed?"

Regulus sighted, feeling relieved that the boy seemed alright.

"Let me clean you up, then I will bring you to bed" Reg said and conjured a flannel and some water to rub away the runes and hieroglyphs Harry had painted in blood on his body.

"Thanks" the boy said when finally the last drop of blood was cleaned from his naked chest. "I hate this ritual. In other rituals the blood would simply vanish after I finalize the ritual. I don't know why it is different with that one…"

"Maybe because you are destroying something?" Regulus guessed.

Harry looked at the objects in front of him.

"Maybe" he said, and then came to his feet with a little help from Regulus. "Maybe."

Regulus opened the door and stopped listening. Nothing.

Silently they creped downstairs to the room Harry shared with Ron. There, Regulus opened the door to look in. Ron was sleeping soundlessly. So they were safe. They entered and Reg helped Harry to bed.

"Thanks" Harry said, Reg just snorted.

"You did the whole work. Bringing you to bed is definitely the easier part."

Harry just rolled with his eyes.

"Nevertheless thanks."

Reg smiled at him.

"Sleep, Harry. We wouldn't wake Ron now, would we?"

"Definitely not" Harry answered yawning, and then closed his eyes. "Hide the objects, will you?"

"Of course."

"Hide yourself as well."

"Sure."

Harry yawned again.

"Sleep, Harry."

"Will do."

And with that the boy closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Regulus looked down at the boy he had sworn to help. Now, asleep the boy looked absolutely harmless. Regulus took the glasses of the boy and put them on the table beside the bed.

He sighted.

A child. He was following the advices and command of a child. When he would not know that the boy in front of him was older than he looked, he would declare himself crazy.

He shook his head.

"Let's start the beginning of the end" he whispered sighting and still head shaking. "Let's see what's left after you are through with them…"

And with that he left the room to hide the Ex-Horcruxes and finally to go to bed himself.

xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

_That's it. Maybe there'll be a two-chapter Christmas-bonus in the next days, we'll see – but definitely one other I'll promise to post before Christmas._

_I hope you like it…_

_Just another warning beforehand: I might have to change the age-limit because there might be some things in the next chapters that will not fit with the K+ limit I have now… But we'll see._

'_Till next time._

_Ebenbild_


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